A Race Against Time
by Weapon Frayer
Summary: What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. Rated M for scenes, language, and other crap later.
1. Welcome to Hell, In Russia

**Author's Note:**

**I have been busy, but I decided to start a new story. I just hope this sticks around!**

**Also, reading Archived Entry #1 (by me!) and Isolation (by Well Groomed Goldfish) might really help you understand what's going on. This is a 'What if?' of 'Seas of the Past', had the precursor war been a stalemate.**

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><p><strong>Summary:<strong>

**What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. **

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><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 1 - 2071 - Sevastopol, Crimea**

The situation in Europe, April 29th, 2071, is a maelstrom of chaos:

The remains of what used to be the French army pepper English and German troops in a guerrilla war in Northern France.

Austria has invaded Italy, in a last ditch attempt to escape the advancing Swiss and Russian armies.

Spain is facing the threat of the 2nd civil war in 3 years.

Greece is readying for an invasion by Egypt, and has launched WWII-era V2 rockets at England and Norway.

Denmark is preparing an invasion of Sweden and Poland.

Russian and Mexican troops are setting up for D-Day Part 2 in the PELF-controlled Southern United States of America.

And, uprisings and riots have sprouted all over Europe.

But, the question remains untouched, yet so persistant:

How can one's decision, 20,000 miles away, change history like no others can?

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><p><strong>Sevastopol, Crimean Republic<strong>

"Hello Marko, I see you're doing well today?" a woman greeted to a walking teenager in the market. "Yes ma'am, I'm doing fine." the Italian-born college student replied to the woman.

"So Marko, tell me, what would you like for lunch today?" the woman asked. She pulled up her saggy pants and her velvet head-covering back a little bit, and slowly pulled out a pair of tongs.

Marko thought for a few seconds. "Come on, Marko! You know I need to go to the soldiers' department and drop off the leftovers from last night to them!" the woman shouted.

"Alright, alright, Auntie Maryam! I think I'll have some pirozhki. And maybe some of your homemade tea, if that's OK." Marko finally answered. Aunt Maryam smiled, and plucked a few pirozhki buns into a small, brown bag.

"Here you go, Marko!" Aunt Maryam smiled, handing the bag to Marko. "Thanks a lot, Aunt Maryam!" Marko thanked, running off to catch his bus.

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><p>But, this is the point of divergence.<p>

Marko's decision of lunch, on April 29th, 2071 would change history forever, in 2 ways.

Marko's decision of pirozhki for lunch, would cause the War for French Succession to end, but cause an successor state of Austria to start World War III, and eventually, wipe out 45% of humanity.

Had Marko chosen differently, this is how history would have been changed forever...

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><p>"Alright, alright Auntie Maryam! I think I'll have some..." Marko rethought again. <em>I'm not that hungry right now. Maybe some...<em>

"I'll have some blini, Aunt Maryam." Marko finally replied. "Sure thing, Marko." Aunt Maryam smiled, grasping some blini, and dropping it into a brown bag, with some tea for good measure.

"Oh crap! I have to catch my bus! Thanks a lot, Aunt Maryam!" Marko yelled, running to his bus, and barely getting on in time. "See you Marko!" Aunt Maryam yelled, as Marko's bus started driving on the Kamyshove Highway.

"OK, now to drop off the leftovers from last night." Aunt Maryam said to herself, as she pulled out the boxes from the display counter, and lowered them onto a rusty, old shopping cart.

She pulled the cart, getting dust stuck on her Arabic, foreign shoes she got from her sister, until she reached the military base in Sevastopol. "Halt! What's your name?" a guard barked, running up to Maryam.

"Maryam Hussein-Vargas. I'm here to drop off some food for my husband. Now may I pass?"

There seemed to suddenly be a twinkle in the guard's eyes, as his face brightened with a smile. "So you're the lady that makes those delicious shortcrust pastries!" he remarked, with imaginary sparkles added for full effect.

"Sure! You can pass!" the guard finished, still smiling. "OK..." Maryam replied, slightly creeped out, as she opened the door with her husband's spare keycard. She noted to herself that it looked stormy outside, and applauded herself for bringing an umbrella.

"Hey Mary, how are you doing?" an officer, Viktor Fradkov said to Mary in flawless Russian. "I'm sorry, what?" Maryam replied, citing the fact that she did not understand Russian.

"I apologize, Mary, but I meant to say 'Hey Mary, how are you doing?'." Viktor said, in broken Italian. "Great actually. Hey, I would like you to give this to Matteo. And don't eat any, unless he lets you. I was really mad, when I heard some of your friends fed my cookies to dogs."

"Alright then. Thanks a lot, Mary; you actually increase our morale by a lot." Viktor said. "Really? That's something new I learned..." Maryam remarked. "Oh! I have to go, Viktor, back to my shop, and reopen! Damn, didn't notice the time until now."

"Alright Mary, hope you have a safe journey back to your shop!" Viktor yelled. "For God's sake, it's only 2 miles back to the marketplace. But OK! See you!" Maryam yelled back, running to her shop.

"Well, time to give lunch to Mr. I'm-The-Boss-Of-All-Of-You-So-Listen..." Viktor remarked. "Hey Boss, here's lunch!" Viktor yelled to Maffeo Vargas, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian 4th Army, and secretly, the personification of Venice, Italy.

"Thank you Viktor, we'll need all the energy we can get. Get Vladimir in here; I'll get ahold of Ivan." Maffeo ordered. "Sure thing, boss.." Viktor replied dryly. Viktor did not know, but Maffeo was referring to his ally in the war, Ivan Braginsky, or the fellow personification of Russia.

After Viktor had left the room, Maffeo sat down to his lunch. "Well, honey, your customers were awfully generous today. Meh, I'll just have a little." He chomped down on a shortcrust pastry, and ate a piece of pirozhki.

Then, he went to call Ivan, who picked up relatively quickly. Then, all of a sudden, Maffeo leaped into the air with patriotic pride.

When he was done, Viktor was coming back in with Vladimir Popov, one of the 5 brigade generals in the Vladimir Putin Crimean Military & Aerial Support Centre and Base, and Maffeo's most trusted man.

"Alright sir, what's the current situation right now in Europe, and for us?" Vladimir asked Maffeo. "Well, I'll tell you some, and then you watch the news what Ivan just ordered."

"So, first of all, get your iPads out." Check. "Next, go to the Google Doc, that says 'War Situation'." Check. "Read the doc."

**Military Status of the Euro Coalition's War Against France's Allies**

**French Resistance vs. Germany, Britain, & Belgium**

**Status: **

**_The resistance movements in Paris and Marseille have been crushed with destruction of the Notre Dame Cathedral by our prototype Rogers XP-47 Ravenwoods' oxygen-diesel bombs and C4 loads. The resistance in Bordeaux is currently being quelled by the 6th Army right now, with orders to shoot if shot upon. Martial law is still in effect, as of 8:00 London Time, April 29th, 2071._**

"Good, good." said Maffeo, even though he already knew this from Ivan's briefing of the situation to him.

**Austria (4th-9th Armies, Austrian Air Force, Holt Co. Navy), Greece, Croatia, & Hungary vs. Russia, Switzerland, Britain, Germany, and Turkey**

**Status:**

_**Austria has pushed out to 5 miles north of Venice, and 12 miles out of Genoa. Vienna's suburbs are still under siege, as of 8:00 London Time, April 29th, 2071. The Russian tactical group A-54 took Linz at 7:30 London Time, April 29th, 2071. The joint task force is facing the Einstendt Line, and winning so far. UPDATE, 8:56 London Time: Vienna has surrendered, after learning the news from the French resistance war. Austria to be divided up into 4 parts, just like post-WWII Germany & Prussia.**_

_**There have also been signs of unrestricted movement by Austrian soldiers in occupied Poland, but they have not been confirmed.**_

"They just took Vienna?!" Maffeo shouted in surprise. He checked his atomic clock. It was 11:59 in Sevastopol right now, which was 8:59 in the morning in London right now.

"I'm worried about the Austrians in Poland, not Vienna." Vladimir whispered to Viktor. "Same."

**Spanish National Army vs. Movimiento de Independencia (Independence Movement)**

**Status:**

_**Most of our contacts, except German agent E-23, have reported the same thing: The IM is rising up in Spain, and have established control in Catalonia, Gibraltar, and Galicia. The president was killed, en transit to Greece by one of our military drones, along with his former staff. Some of our forces have gave arms to Galician rebels, and even 3 planes to the Independence Movement in Catalonia.**_

"Well, that's good." Viktor huffed, thinking about his term in the office, dealing with communications from and to Spain.

**30 Minutes Later...**

"...and that's the worldwide news." All of a sudden, alarms started flashing in the base. "Wait - don't tell me that's-"

"CODE RED, MEN! GET INTO YOUR DEFENSE POSITIONS!" Maffeo screamed into the base-wide PA system. "Who the hell could be attacking now?!" Viktor yelled to Vladimir.

"Wait a minute...don't tell me...oh shit..."

"What is it?"

"We're fucked." Vladimir swore, as the symbol for the Iranian Army and the Austrian Army's remaining men marched into Russian soil. "Screw the facts! Vladimir, activate the hidden silos; I'm calling Ivan!" Maffeo commanded.

"Are you insane?! Alright then..." Vladimir shouted in shock, pulling a little Ziploc bag out, with 45 codes to activate nuclear missiles. Meanwhile, Maffeo got in touch with Ivan.

"Ivan! Are you-"

"_Comrade, all of Mother Russia is being attacked. Moscow will be like another Sweeping of Lyon, or at best, like after the Firebombing of Dresden. Most of our men are in Europe, fighting the French resistance and Austrian homeland._"

Maffeo shuddered, thinking about the Sweeping of Lyon, which was the result of the complete obliteration of Lyon, France, by oxygen-diesel bombs, C4, nukes, and burning of 20,000 rebels, along with 450,000 civilians being taken hostage, the lot being women and children.

That had occurred just 4 years ago on July 17th, 2067. It was a terrible sight, as it was even more devastating than Hiroshima, and released 20 times more radiation than the Fukushima incident 60 years ago.

Maffeo than got back into reality. "Sir, our radar indicates help coming from...China?!" Viktor briefed. "Ah. Well, we're losing ground here, and bombs are being dropped everywhere. How close is the enemy to Moscow?"

Viktor shrugged, while he watched the firestorm rage on outside during the Crimean sunset. "The latest reports suggest that the closest enemy to Moscow is 34 miles southwest of Minsk, and 34 to the Russian border."

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the room. "What the hell?!" Vladimir screamed, as concrete blasted through the office. Papers were scattered everywhere, some flying outside, only to be burned by the burning explosives.

Then, a recognizable plane flew into the base's airfield. Vladimir was under 2 feet of wood and concrete, but could see the 5 men exit the aircraft. Maffeo wasn't covered, but was instead bleeding profusely.

A man wearing a dress suit, and a woman in military wear walked towards Maffeo, along with 3 armed guards. "You...why did you come all the way here, _Roderich?_" Maffeo spat, laying on the ground, still bleeding.

"Because, _Maffeo,_" Roderich sneered. "_What?_" Maffeo said, starting to cough. "even when I gave you everything, you still rebelled."

"That.." Maffeo coughed, "doesn't...give...reason...to..."

"_What?_" Roderich said. "You're a worthless piece of trash, who only became rich, because _I _spoiled you beyond imaginable belief. It was _me _who gave you the importance to Italy. It was _me _who saved you from the Spanish. You were just a _hinderance _for my plans of world domination."

Roderich pulled out an AK-47. "And now, you have no use. You are nothing. You were just a pawn in my plans to take over the world. Bye-bye." He was about to pull the trigger, but all of a sudden, 5 shots pierced his ribcage and the guardsmen's heads by chance, and he started to bleed.

"You...are...mistaken in your attempts..." Maffeo coughed out, "...as Italia has not yet fallen..." Roderich started to cough blood. "Come on...finish me...before I die..."

"Your...attempt at...killing...the...source...will be brought...to...nothing..." Roderich sputtered, close to death. "Well, let's end this, shall we...?" Maffeo coughed out.

Finally, Maffeo's hidden blade had punched Roderich in the throat. At the same time, blood squirted out of Maffeo's head, as a bullet shot out from Maffeo's left temple. "_L'Italia... non...è...ancora...perdut..._"

And then, Maffeo Barbarini Vargas, along with Roderich Edelstein, the human personifications of Venice and Austria respectively, passed on into the other-worldly realm, where the likes of Rome and Germania were located.

At the same time, Viktor had clawed his way out of the concrete, and sniped Roderich's guards. However, a woman donning military gear still stood, blinking at the two corpses.

Suddenly, she started to rapidly blinking. "Oh my God...what have I done..." she cried, as Viktor, with his blood-stained uniform, put a gun up to her head. "Hello, my name is Viktor Fradkov. What is your business and affiliation here, in the Vladimir Putin Military & Aerial Support Centre and Base, ma'am." he stated, coolly.

"M-my name is Eliz-Elizabeta Héderváry...Um, I came with the man w-who was..." Elizabeta started crying, as she thought to herself, _What happened to me? I became a monster, and now, Mr. Austria is dead!_

"Oh good, gracious Lord, I just want to be with Mr. Austria!" Elizabeta sobbed. "Wait, what?!" Viktor shouted, hearing _Mr. Austria_. "Just kill me!" Elizabeta cried out, reaching for the gun.

"NO! You're now under the custody of the Russian 4th Army! Or what remains of it..." he shouted. He looked around, and saw the glorious buildings of the base tumbling down from collapse, and exploding everywhere.

"Viktor! You're alive!" a familiar voice yelled in joy, as Viktor saw the face of 2 of his friends. "Mary! Vladimir! You're alive!" Viktor yelled with joy, as they embraced in a hug.

"What happened? We saw the entire invasion; it was truly horrific." Maryam stated. Then, she saw Maffeo's dead body. "W-what?!" she stuttered, when she saw the two men, Maffeo and Roderich, dead, with blades in each other.

"Mary, calm down. The other guy-"

"OH ALLAH, MY HUSBAND IS DEAD!" Maryam started to sob, as Vladimir looked at Elizabeta. "So, looks like we have ourselves a captive. What do you say we do? Interrogate? Or A-X?" Vladimir asked Viktor.

"NO, Vladimir. We're getting secrets out, not raping any captives, like what the 7th Army did after Lyon." Viktor ordered Vladimir. "Well, since it seems you're better at leadership, I hearby promote you to temporary commander-in-chief of the Russian 4th Army." Vladimir stated. "Congratulations."

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**THAT was the longest chapter I have written in a long time.**

**Anyways, hope you like this story! If you do, review and follow, so I can make sure to make this a frequent story to update!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	2. Secrets and Discovery

**Summary:**

****What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. ****

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><p><strong>A Race Against Time <strong>

**Chapter 2 - 2071 - Sevastopol, Crimea & Barcelona, Spain**

**Sevastopol, Russian Dominion of Crimea**

Viktor had found out, that the sub-basement was still standing, operational, and filled with supplies. Even better, there were 35 prison cells to keep hostages.

Viktor and Vladimir had placed Elizabeta in a cell, and got the supplies needed to interrogate. Maryam, meanwhile, was searching for soldiers that could be alive, and ready to fight.

Although only 4 soldiers in the base were still alive, not including Vladimir and Viktor, they had an abundance of weapons to defend themselves from the incoming taskforce that Greece had sent.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who you were, Elizabeta was in shambles, due to Roderich's death, and speaking everything she knew.

"Alright, why the hell did you call Mr. Edelstein 'Mr. Austria'?" Viktor questioned. "Alright then...Although you see me now, I am the living personification of the nation or land of Hungary. Maffeo was one of the personifications, being the city of Venice in Italy. In normal conditions, nations, regions, or whatever can't die. However, if the nation is in a time of change, and the personification cannot change, or people stop believing in the nation altogether, the personification will become mortal, until either the time of change has passed, or they die."

Viktor now understood. _Explains why an Italian is in command of a Russian army in Crimea_, Viktor thought. "Now, why did you say 'What have I done'? And why were you trying to kill yourself? Even I'm amazed."

Elizabeta shuddered, her face grimacing. "In 2056, after the 2nd American Revolution ended, anarchy and chaos spread worldwide in places like Ukraine, Peru, Thailand...and Austria."

_I remember the war; Father was part of the campaign to bomb Los Angeles, _Vladimir remarked to himself. "The UK, Canada's, and Russia's economy tanked, thanks in part to funding the retaking of America. The domino effect swept everywhere, and combined with poor harvests, 2 volcanic eruptions in Iceland and Italy, and the sinking of the British Royal Navy's main fleets at the Battle of the Adriatic Sea against Turkey, made the world's GDP drop to less than $50,000,000 million dollars, causing uprisings everywhere. Except for China, who had invaded Afghanistan and Mongolia for resources, and the reformation of NATO, which was renamed the 'Northern Aerial Military Banking-Loaning Alliance', or NAMBLA. NAMBLA established itself dominant over the UN, and burned its buildings in New York, and destroyed the one in The Hague. Soon, power was returned to the former players, but France had reestablished itself as a monarchy, and my land and Austria's, along with former Czechoslovakia, Albania, Serbia, and Bavaria were united into Austria-Hungary again."

"There was peace after we joined NAMBLA, in 2061, but then came along Isaac Prevett." Elizabeta explained, her look darkening to a stalker glare. "_That _Isaac Prevett? The one who started this damn war?" Vladimir spat, thinking about how to kill a Frenchman right then.

"Yes. That one. You know what happened at the beginning, but Prevett was also a double-agent for Austria and Italy before the war. Then, he accidentally burned down to Italian embassy in England, which killed 45 people, including the English ambassador to Italy, which made his run away to France."

"But then, that _bastard_, that bastard; he came to Vienna, and manipulated the government to ignore and forget the accident never happened. There was a staff, he was holding, which was glowing like the sun, and then that's where things get blurry." Elizabeta continued.

"I happened to be there, and the staff...he manipulated me with the staff, to do his own bidding, along with Mr. Austria...it was horrible...I don't have a lot of recollection, but I remember the children's faces...all horrible things I did...I _murdered _innocents..."

Vladimir and Viktor stood there, eyes wide at Elizabeta's tale. "O-Okay...we're done here, I suppose..." Viktor stuttered. Vladimir spoke. "You're still our prisoner, but we'll make sure not to let anything happen to you, like the bastard Chokov back in Lyon."

"By the way, why did Prevett have the staff? To get Europe into a 10 year war?" Viktor asked Elizabeta. "I don't know...all I know is that there are more staffs, similar to Prevett's." she answered, her green eyes teary-eyed.

"More staffs? Where the hell could they be?" Vladimir wondered. Viktor opened the cell. "Well, let's answer those later. Come on, now. We're going to London."

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><p><strong>Barcelona, Catalonian Republic<strong>

People were waving their flags, yelling, as the heads of the rebellion against Spain walked up to the stage. "Hello, all of you. I see that we are exceptionally trigger-happy today. Well, good news everyone!" one of the leaders, the Foreign Military Leader, British Field Marshal Haytham Keating said in perfect Spanish.

The people cheered, raising their arms and weapons, some being flamethrowers and RPG's, others being handguns and sheath knifes. "The Spanish National armies left standing have focused their attention to US, and are advancing right now! Now, show your weapons if you want to fight for freedom!"

Almost every person in the room hurrahed, and most of them raised their various arms and combat weapons, except for any children 11 and under, who waved the Catalonian flag. "Now, shout if you want freedom, liberty, and justice brought to Madrid's corrupt government!" Haytham yelled.

Everyone screamed and shouted, even the old seniors, who held assault rifles brought in from Norway, dated WWII-era. "Then, let's go out, _for Catalonia!_" he cried out, as everyone ran down Montjuïc, and racing to the gates of the fortified city.

As everyone was running, Haytham slipped from the crowd, and to the backstage, where he entered a secret passage, leading to a vault. "Antonio, you're a genius. A fucked-up one, at that." he said, pressing the contact 'Antonio Hernandez' on his iPhone 25.

"_Hello?_" the voice on the other end said.

"Hey Antonio, this is Haytham."

"_Oh. Hey Haytham. Alright, what the hell do you want?_"

"I need 4 planes, that are filled with explosives, can be piloted outside the plane, and can reach Amsterdam."

"_What?_"

"I'm planning to distract the Belgians long enough, so you can take their navy by surprise." _Lies._

"_Alright then. Their ETA is about 13:00, tomorrow. See 'ya, then._"

"Good luck Antonio."

Haytham ended the call, and was about to pull the door to the vault open, when another call appeared on his phone display. "What now?" he muttered, answering the call.

"_Hey Dad, this is your son Timmy._"

_GODDAMMIT. _"What is it, Timmy? Are you stuck in traffic again?" Haytham sighed.

"_No Dad; even better. I found the location of the 1st staff._"

"You WHAT?" Haytham shouted out loud. He was in total surprise, amazed how smart, yet slow his son was. "Since when did you find out?"

"_I found out last week. Internet was down, though, and you know what's going on in America._" Timmy replied.

"So, where is the 1st staff?" Haytham questioned.

"_It's in the ruins of Vienna. However, I doubt that Prevett is incoming. Pretty sure that the Brits shot him, and burned the corpse. Should have also thrown it into Iceland's volcano, too._"

That made Haytham chuckle a bit. "Well then, I'm sending a dispatch to Vienna. What about the key? Where is it, and who has it?"

"_Well, the key is somewhere in Ukraine right now. I have no idea where exactly, but the member there, Maffeo Vargas, last had the key._"

Haytham tensed. Ukraine was being attacked right now, and God knows what would happen if the Great Society found the key! "_Alright Dad, I gotta go; the Southern commies are advancing right now. See 'ya!_"

Haytham ended the call, and pulled the door open to the vault. "Now, where is Box N-17?" he mused to himself.

Meanwhile, the Catalonian Independence Movement was moving fast, engaging the Spanish troops in guerilla warfare. "Die, you totalitarians! Go to hell, where you belong!" a soldier, Garcia Sanchez was yelling, as the AK-47's shot their loads at the Spanish troops.

On the Spanish side, the commander was fuming. "_WHERE THE HELL IS MY AIR SUPPORT?!_" he screamed at his scouts. "Th-they're coming, s-sir!" a scout stuttered. "Well then, since you're so incompetent, I hearby call the entire Special Forces _dismissed _from combat and-"

Suddenly, an inferno of fire and flame incinerated the commander and his troops, as the Tomcat plane kept firing missiles at the tanks on the ground. "_The enemy's commander has been killed!_" the pilot of the Tomcat yelled in glee._  
><em>

"Yeah!" Garcia jumped up, joyful, that Diego Hernandez was finally dead. The dictator of Spain, for 21 years, was finally dead. The man, who had all of Santiago de Compostela burned, was finally in his rightful place.

"We're not done here...fire at will." the commander ordered to his unit of soldiers. "Sure thing!" everyone, including Garcia blissfully complied with. They got out, and started firing their assault rifles, machine guns, and various other weapons at the slowly advancing armies.

A stray bullet pierced a Spanish soldier's groin, causing him to scream in agony. "OH GOD, IT HURTS!" he cried out in agony. "Bye-bye~" Garcia sang, shooting his long hat and temple off his head.

"_Got an AK-47, well you know it makes me feel alright~_" Garcia sang, cutting down lines of Spaniards with his enhanced AK-47. "_Got an Uzi by my pillow, helps me sleep a little better at night~_"

"_There's no feeling any greater; than to, shoot first and ask questions later~ Now I'm trigger happy, trigger happy every day~!_" he kept singing, mowing the front lines, so the IM could recover lost ground.

Garcia kept shooting anything that moved; that had Spanish ID's, that is. The soldiers were only fighting for 4 hours, when the Spanish armies' remaining men, which numbered 55,000 at the beginning of the fight, was reduced to 2,000 when they started to retreat from the outskirts of Barcelona.

"_Wow_. This was just a slaughterhouse tonight." Haytham, stunned, said to his colleague, and fellow member of the Custodes Thesaurus S. Ordinis S. Mariae, or the Keepers of the Order of St. Mary's of the Sacred Treasure in English._  
><em>

"Haytham, this was just. They avenged the innocent that died at Santiago in 2065, and killed the man who ordered it." his colleague said. "Desmond, get me a helicopter. We need to meet up with Maffeo. We _need _the key now."

Desmond looked puzzled. "Haytham, we don't even know if Maffeo's still alive. Why should we go, even if we know where the 1st staff is?" he asked Haytham. "Des, just trust me on this one."

He was on his knees, almost begging for his wantings. "Alright, alright, _Nathaniel._" he relented, teasing Haytham in the process. "Stop that, you know I don't like people using my middle name." Haytham said, getting off the dusty ground of the walls of Barcelona.

"OK, fine. The next helicopter comes in at 14:00 local, tomorrow." Desmond told him. Haytham shrugged. "Who knows? Maffeo _may _be dead, but at least we know from the young interim commander-in-chief of the Russian 4th, Viktor Fradkov, that the personification of Austria is dead."

"Roderich is dead? That's a shame. Nice man, too. Although he was a little _too _fancy for my liking..." Desmond remarked. "Hey Desmond, it's getting kind of late now. Why don't you get some rest?" Haytham suggested to Desmond.

"Geez, Haytham, you know I have a shitload of work to-". "Yes, I know. But it's going to be a big day tomorrow. Get some rest, Desmond."

"Alright, I guess I'll sleep for a little while." he sighed, as he trotted to the entrance of the barracks, and opened the wooden door. He opened the door with his key, and ran to the bathroom.

"Man, what an exciting day." Desmond remarked to himself, throwing a pair of boxers and an undershirt on, and taking his military uniform off. "Are you OK?" someone suddenly said, in a young voice.

"Oh God! Oh, it's you. Yeah Garcia, I'm alright." Desmond replied. "You kinda scared me for a little while, dude." Garcia sweatdropped. "Sorry about that, Officer Miles." he apologized.

"That's OK, Garcia. What are you doing here at this hour, anyways?" he asked. Garcia shifted a little bit, and shuffled through his pockets. "Let's see...AK-47, no...rations, no...Penis Enlarger 3000, no...ah hah!"

Desmond was still standing there, waiting and whistling, as Garcia pulled out a packet of paper. "This is the situation in Europe. There's some big news coming in from Egypt and America. Also, here are the orders for the IM tomorrow." Garcia pulled out a stapled packet of paper, that had official seals on them.

"OK...Crimean invasion by Austria repelled...Maffeo dead...wait, what?!" he yelled, reading the note. "Yep, this just came through 20 minutes ago. I was shocked too, but it had to be done."

Desmond dropped the piece of paper, gasping in shock. "CHINA'S INVOLVED?! WE'RE SCREWED!" he yelled. Garcia decided to see the paper again.

**The Situation of the Euro Coalition vs. France's Allies**

**BREAKING NEWS!**

**China has invaded the UAE and Iran, after the successful invasion of Pakistan in 2059. Because of the fact that Iran has many tactical points to launch at our enemies, and the UAE's strategic importance, this has been taken as a declaration of war by the Chinese Empire. Therefore, on April 30th, 2071, at mid-day, China will be declared war upon by the following countries: Iran, Georgia, the United Kingdom, Portugal, Egypt, Turkey, and Russia. **

"Well, we had better start mobilizing fast..." Garcia implied, as Desmond stood in shock, and outrage, on the floor of the barracks, in the warm, Spanish night.

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><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**It took a while, and a lot of planning, but this chapter is done!**

**Follow and favorite if you want more! Review if you feel the mood or need to do so, and suggest this to your friends!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	3. From Spain To Switzerland

**Summary:**

******What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. ******

* * *

><p><strong><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>**

****Chapter 3 - Barcelona, Catalonia, The Skies of France, and Lake Geneva****

****Barcelona, Catalonian Republic****

Desmond was early to rise, as the warm, bright sun's rays pierced the darkness of the night. He rolled, tossed, and turned around in bed, before opening an eye to the alarm clock posted in the barracks.

**6:54 AM, Local Time **the clock said, as Desmond sighed. "Thank God I didn't sleep in.." he remarked, stepping off of his bed, and yawning like the lion does in the morning after a peaceful nap.

He pushed the door open, and looked at himself in the mirror. His face was usual for the average soldier, and his ruffled undergarments were also normal. One thing, that he DID notice, was the note on his arm.

**-Haytham**

**Prepare to leave. Transport to Crimea coming early. Be at airfield at half past eight.**

He sighed, placing a wad of toothpaste on his electronic toothbrush, and cleaned his uncleaned teeth from last night's midnight snack. Desmond thought about going back home to his family and kids in Canada, absent-minded before realizing he was getting changed.

_Must be my mind. I'm getting old pretty fast! _he thought to himself, while putting on a navy uniform. "Hey Desmond, how was your sleep?" Garcia asked, uncharacteristically cheerful, even for his bubbly, and trigger-happy personality.

"Good. Why are you jumping around like crazy?" he replied, partially worried, and partially excited. "Dez, Denmark was able to stop the Greek V-2's from hitting Oslo and London! Also, the Americans and Russians retook Oakland, while defeating the APSELF **(American People's Socialist Equality and Liberation Front, PELF's equivalent in this story, except it has its' own government in the Southern United States) **at Taylor Heights!"**  
><strong>

Desmond was surprised at the amount of good news that was reported, compared to the drudgery of 2067-2069, for the Euro Coalition. Still, he was worried about China's involvement in the war.

He _had _a right to be worried, after all. China had a gigantic military, and God knows what will happen if North Korea joins in! _Hell, _he said, _would result because of North Korea's crazyness._

"Well, I better get going. Garcia, are you busy? You can come along, too, if you would like." Desmond offered. "No thanks, Dez. I need to stick behind in case the Spanish decide to attack again."

Desmond nodded. "I see. Well then, good luck defending Catalonia. And also, this is a direct order: In the event of a nuclear strike by ANYONE on London, go to the command bunker, and use this key," he threw a silver key to Garcia, "to activate the entire arsenal in Egypt. It's a huge shitload."

"O-OK..." he stuttered. Garcia already knew that Egypt's nuclear arsenal rivaled the former USSR's, and even America's back in the Cold War era. But he didn't know, until then, that it was that easy.

"Alright then, see you Dez. Have a safe trip, and say hi to Haytham for me!" Garcia yelled. "You too, Garcia!" Desmond yelled, as he ran to the helipad where his transport was.

He ran past the fortifications' anti-aircraft weapons, and the loads of AA guns on the roof, grabbing a spare shotgun, Uzi, and some loads with him. Also grabbing a few C4 grenades, he finally reached the pad.

"Ah, he's here." Haytham said to himself, as Desmond stepped onto the boarding platform. "Sorry Haytham...was getting info...sorry I'm late..." he panted, completely tired.

"That's OK. So, what's been going on?" he asked. "Oakland's been liberated, and the APSELF forces at Taylor Heights near Topeka. Also, the V2's were repelled; and, I gave orders for DEFCON Level 1 if London is striked."

"WHAT?! YOU GAVE ORDERS FOR DEFCON?!"

"Calm down Haytham, it's only if London is attacked!"

"Oh. OK, then. We're going now. Get in." Haytham said, knocking on the helicopter door. "Pilot, we're ready to leave." Haytham said. "Alright then. Get in, buckle your seatbelts, 'cause we're going to Crimea. We'll be there in 5 hours, and maybe 4 if there's no interference."

"Alright, then. Let's go."

The passengers strapped into their seats, the Apache Blackhawk started hovering, and then floated off into the bright morning sunrise. The propellers were swishing, and the wind was chopped into regular air, as the Blackhawk started to fly above the border of Catalonia and Euro-occupied France.

"Alright, we're on. What now?" Desmond asked, irritated he got yelled at. "Well, now we-"

**BOOM! **The sound of explosives could be heard, as Haytham looked out of the window. "Shit! There's tanks and AA-guns down there! We're getting shot at!" Desmond swore.

"Which side is it? I don't see...oh...Desmond, do you have a match right now?" Haytham suddenly asked. Desmond looked puzzled. "Why are you asking now...oh, now I see." He grinned.

"Yeah, I got one." Desmond said, pulling out a matchbox. "Here you go." He threw the box to Haytham, when suddenly, a shell exploded close to the window. "Shit, I'm hit!" the pilot exclaimed, as Desmond looked at him.

"Fuck! The glass got into your arm..." Desmond shouted, climbing into the cockpit. "Desmond, thanks a lot." Haytham all of a sudden said, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and throwing a oxygen-diesel bomb onto the ground.

**BOOM! **the ground went, as Desmond ducked down to avoid the splash effect that the blast produced. "Damn, that was strong." Haytham said to Desmond, while the both of them got up from ducking.

"Yeah, that wa-" Desmond looked ahead. "Take cover!" he yelled all of a sudden, as Haytham saw the MIG's incoming in their direction. "Who the hell is attacking us?!"

Then, a voice came through the speaker. "_Pilot, this is Commander Felix Braun of the Swedish Army. Land immediately, or be prepared to be fired upon._" the speaker through the megaphone stated. "_I repeat, land immediately, or be prepared to be fire upon._"

"Shit, what do we do?" Desmond, panicked, asked Haytham. "Hope you have a gun, 'cause your going to need it." Haytham grimly said, a dark, grimace on his face. "Yeah, I got one. What now?" Desmond asked, holding up his Uzi and loads.

Haytham sighed. "It will suffice. Now, we have to fire at the planes' engines. Be conservative about your bullet use, because there's a lot of planes incoming. "_Pilot, this is your final warning. Land now, or be fired on._"

Desmond gave the speaker the bird. "FIRE NOW!" Haytham screamed, as he started to regain control of the Blackhawk. Desmond gave Haytham his signature grin, and fired 3 bullets into 2 planes.

One bullet cracked a MIG's windshield, while another one was caught in the pilot's forehead. Eventually spiraling out of control, the plane crashed in a brilliant explosion, on a Andorian village.

The 3rd bullet lobbed itself into another MIG's propulsion system, trashing the Swedish-made engine, and setting the nearby sky, the plane, and the unfortunate pilot on fire, in a quick and painful death.

Desmond was getting in the mood, shooting all of the MIG's at least once, in the windshield and engine. By the time the fight had reached the skies above Lake Geneva in Switzerland, most of the MIG's had crashed, or blown up in the trail of destruction that Desmond & co. caused.

"Hell yeah!" All of a sudden, a red light started to strobe in the helicopter. "Oh fuck, no! We're almost out of fuel! Desmond, brace for impact!" Haytham yelled, and Desmond huddled in the cargo hold of the Blackhawk.

When the helicopter crashed into the lake, Desmond braced himself like no other has done, staying as still as a rock. He blocked his way out with the seat, and a crate of supplies, which contained rations, water, and an iPhone, with a charger.

The scene on the lake could not be described by any of the 14 fisherman or 300 militiamen stationed at Fort Dawson, just 800 yards away from the impact zone. The explosion was a blast of grey, blue, brown, and red, all culminating into a hodgepodge of colors.

One young soldier, who was transfered to Fort Dawson, however, was the only one to take immediate notice of the explosion. "What the hell in God's name was that?!" Peter Grant, aged 17, exclaimed.

Another soldier came into the room. "What are you talking about, Peter?" the soldier asked. "I...I just saw a helicopter crash into the water!" Peter told his fellow man. "Ridiculous, we would have heard!" the soldier waved away.

"I'm not kidding, Dave! I saw a freaking helicopter, with the Catalonian colors flying on it. Then, all of a sudden, the speakers in the garrison blared. "_Group A, Regiment 6. Please come to the briefing room immediately._"

"Regiment 6, that's me and you! We gotta go!" Peter yelled, running out of the barracks room where he had been writing. "Alright, I'm coming." Dave sighed, trotting out of the room in his patrol uniform.

When Peter reached the room, the commander had already started the briefing. "Grant, you're late! This is important business!" the commander barked at Peter. "S-Sorry sir..."

Then, Dave came in, casually walking into the room in the patrolling uniform. "Walker, you're also late! _Again!_" the commander spat. "Well, it wasn't my problem." Dave replied, smoothly.

"Just sit down!" the commander yelled, while Dave sat down. "Alrighty, then. Men, we have signs of an unidentified aircraft crashing into the lake nearby-" "I saw it! It was a helicopter!"

The commander started to glare at Peter. "How many times do I need to say, _don't talk when your superior is speaking?_" The commander intensified his glare at Peter, as Peter cowered.

Peter then regained the courage to talk. "I am aware of that, sir, but I am certain that it was a helicopter." Peter stated, honestly. "Oh? Then tell me, why would it be a _helicopter? _Why not an airplane, or even a balloon?"

Peter coughed a bit before speaking again. "Well sir, the aircraft certainly had propellers. And also, the radius of the blast is much too small for an airplane. Plus, there were some other aircraft pursuing it, before all crashing into the ground or exploding."

The commander was genuinely impressed. "All right, then. Good reasoning, but we still don't know. We're sending scouts to confirm, ahem, the aircraft wreckage." the commander briefed.

Everyone was listening now, as the commander continued on about the Italian campaign, and the plan to bomb Madrid. All while this was going on, only Peter was thinking about the pilot of the helicopter.

Meanwhile, scouts were searching the wreckage area. It was now midday, but the supposed pilot's aircraft was scattered everywhere. "Where the hell could the aircraft be?" a scout asked another.

"Beats me."

All of a sudden, the metallic remains of a helicopter's cockpit popped up, with a person in it. One, a scout noticed, was 3rd-degree burned, and definitely dead; his clothes and body smudged in blood, that was still remaining after the lakewater had washed it off.

Then, the other half of a burnt-out helicopter burst from the water. There seemed to be a crate attached to the charred floor, and a chair in the way of the left corner. "Hey dude, can you help me get the crate off?" a scout asked another one.

"Sure thing, bro."

The two scouts jumped off of the patrol boat, and into the water, climbing the wreckage. They pulled the crate's handles off, and although it was hard work, they finally did it.

There was a young man, who's thigh was bleeding. He was still alive, albeit the fact that he looked extremely tired. "Hey guys," he spoke in a raspy voice, "a little help here?"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**There was supposed to be more, but I decided to save it for next chapter. **

**The next part will focus on the events in Crimea, as well as a sneak peak of the next arc of the story!**

**Remember to follow, favorite, and R&R!**

**Until next time, _adieu!  
><em>**


	4. To Vienna!

**Summary:**

******What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. ******

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 4 - Crimea Finale, and Geneva **

**Airfield, 20 Miles North of Sevastopol, Russian Dominion of Crimea**

Viktor remarked on the happenings in the past few days, that had occurred in the war, as he walked through the now-crowded airport:

China had invaded the UAE and Iran, bypassing Islamic State entirely, due to the Sino-Islamic Treaty that ended China's intervention in Iraq in 2045.

The Spanish National Army had been pulverized by Catalonian rebels, in the Battle of Villanova, losing 4/5ths of their army in a futile attempt to bring back Catalonia into Spain.

The Danes had struck in the Bay of Pomerania, securing vital points of interest, like Stralsund, and Cape Arkona, and recapturing the Cophenhagen-Rome route that was cut off by the Polish invasion.

But, most importantly, and also unfortunately, the Austrian armies had taken Smolensk, wisely invading Russia in the late springtime, instead of the winter. This had repercussions on how Russia's role in the Euro-Chinese War played out. With the main forces occupied in Finland, the Baltics, and Georgia, everyone else had to mobilize quickly, or China would get even closer to the Mediterranean Coast.

Vladimir snapped Viktor out of his trance. "Commander Fradkov," he said, snapping his fingers, "we're leaving." Viktor then blinked, and apologized sheepishly. "Sorry about that, I was thinking about the war situation."

Vladimir nodded, when all of a sudden, they heard someone yelling. "_Hey Viktor! I found you!_" the person said, as the two young men swung around to see Maryam running.

Viktor squinted, and saw that Maryam was carrying someone in her arms. "What happened? Where were you?" Vladimir asked Maryam, who kept running, even with her high-heels on the broken pavement.

"Viktor! I found my nephew!" Maryam panted, after running with her nephew in her arms. "Who did you find? Did you find- Oh, you found Marko." Vladimir remarked, amused.

"Where am I...oh hey, Aunt Maryam. Where am I?" Marko said, rising from the bench that Maryam had put his on. "Marko, you're safe. But not for much longer, unless we get out of here. The Austrians are planning to assault the city again. We're being evacuated to Turkey for now."

"Marko, boy! How are you doing?" Viktor excitedly said, trotting up to Marko. Marko frowned a bit. "I feel kind of dazed, and something in my arm feels broken..." Marko replied.

Viktor frowned. "Well, I don't see anything. Let me check it out." Viktor checked Marko's arm, for any injuries. He was in the middle of feeling his arm, when all of a sudden, Vladimir poked him in the shoulder.

"Comrade, we have to leave now. Come, let's go to our plane." Vladimir reminded an irritated Viktor. "Alright then. Marko, go get a cast. Maryam, here's my phone number if you need to call me."

Vladimir teased him for a little while after they boarded the plane, but Viktor saw Maryam's face blush a little bit. "O-OK then. See you, Viktor. Be safe, and good luck!"

Viktor waved, and ran to the plane. "Come on, we have to go!" Vladimir hissed, who was irritated due to the fact that Viktor was delaying their time to get to their destination.

"Alright, I'm on." Vladimir sat in the pilot's seat, while Viktor sat in the co-pilot's seat. "Where to?" Vladimir asked, slightly calmed down now that the two of them could leave.

Viktor gave him a thumbs-up, and turned on the on-flight mic. "Soldiers, we are currently headed to the St. Gallen-Altenrhein Airport in Switzerland. There, Companies 1, 2, and 3 will deploy with Colonel Jose Enrique and be airlifted to Hohn Air Base in Germany. In Vienna, meanwhile, Companies 4 and 5, along with all Special Forces units, will be under my command. The rest of you, Companies 6, 7, 8, and 9, are being transported to Moscow right now. Now, we are going. Do you understand?"

Vladimir swore he heard a little girl-man-boy scream, as everyone in the back looked out of the window. They looked out in amusement, wondering who that was. As it turned out, Viktor recognized him.

"Oh shit, it's Gilbert!" Viktor swore, as the silver-haired man, with red eyes, and the Iron Cross ran onto the runway, with Russian soldiers in pursuit. "What the hell did he get himself into now..." Vladimir sighed.

He jumped off of a crate, and evaded the soldiers who wielded tasers quickly and swiftly. "Gilbert! What the fuck are you doing?!" Viktor yelled, as Gilbert saw him. "Kesesese~ It's the not-awesome guy!" Gilbert laughed, in his weird verbal tic.

"Goddammit Gilbert, what now?!" Viktor swore again. "Well, the awesome me is getting rolled over by the not-awesome pony manchild, so I decided to take matters into my own hands! Kesesese~"

Viktor and Vladimir, along with most of the soldiers on the plane promptly facepalmed. "Want to save him?" Vladimir sighed. Viktor thought for a second. "Meh, why the hell not?"

As Gilbert climbed up the stairs into the plane, Viktor yelled at the other soldiers pursuing him to stop. Seeing the rocket launchers the modified and heavily armed and armored Boeing 747 that Viktor was controlling, they paled, and slowly walked back to the base.

After Gilbert ran inside, Viktor closed the plane, and started for takeoff. "Well, time to go to Vienna." Viktor remarked, while the plane taxied onto the runway. "Yep." Vladimir replied.

The plane's engines started to burn, the velocity of the wind chopping on the red, white, and indigo paintjob the plane had recieved. The wheels fully off of the ground, Viktor could finally relax a little bit.

Then, he heard Gilbert's laugh. "Kesesese~ Is this actually the wimpy girl-man-boy Hungary?" OK, the laugh was starting to get creepy. "_JUST SHUT UP, WON'T YOU?!_" Hungary yelled, through her gagged mouth.

"Hahahahaha! This is just hilarious!" Gilbert laughed even further. "Gilbert, which personification are you?" WHAT. Gilbert turned and stared at a blank-faced Viktor. "What?" Nervous laughter. "Don't play games with me, Gil. _Which one?_"

Gilbert finally sighed. "Alright, the awesome me will tell you. But how did you-" Viktor pointed at Hungary, who was trying to get out of the strong rope that Viktor and Vladimir wrapped her in.

"Oh." For the first time since Hungary's...gender reveal, Viktor saw Gilbert genuinely surprised about something. Gilbert started to laugh again though, as he replied.

"Well, the awesome me used to represent the most awesome country that ever existed; the awesome Prussia!" Blank faces from the soldiers and Viktor. "What? That's not all."

"Then, if Prussia doesn't exist-" Gilbert gave him a death glare. "_IT EXISTS._" Gilbert snarled, scaring a lot of soldiers, even Viktor who cowered behind a seat on the plane.

Gilbert's flaming eyes returned to normal, however, as he continued. "After the un-awesome WWII, my land was occupied by un-awesome Herr Russia. And when I saw _my land, _I refer to my awesome original capital, Königsberg!"

Then, he sulked. "It was really un-awesome, because I couldn't even see my awesome brother." Viktor actually saw Gilbert fight a few tears, yet they still came out. "But then, the Berlin Wall came down, and I was reunited with my awesome bro!"

Viktor then asked Gilbert something. "Gil, do you refer to Germany, who looks like a stereotypical..."

Gilbert had flaming eyes again, with a dark and creepy aura that rivaled Russia's. "_Now, just because that mein bruder has blonde hair, blue eyes, and is German, does not mean he is a Nazi...understand?_"

This completely scared Viktor, and sent about 20 soldiers fainting. "But anyways, then, for some magical reason (_probably England_), my 'land-point' had changed from Kalinigrad," he snarled at saying Russia's name for his old house, "to East Germany."

"W-Well then...by the way, do you know Maffeo Vargas?" Viktor asked. He was as scared as hell, because of Gilbert's bouts of rage. Gilbert looked at him funny. "You know Venice?" he questioned.

"Y-yeah, he was my boss. Then, this guy, named Roderich-" Gilbert's aura suddenly goes cold. "Roderich, you say? _What a familiar name..._" he creepily says, uncharacteristically, in a trigger-happy tone, ready to kill an Austrian.

"-yeah, he killed Maffeo. Actually, they killed each-"

Gilbert suddenly started to spazz out, which worried Viktor. "_**THAT LITTLE PRISSY SON OF A BITCH KILLED MAFFEO?! I WANT HIM DEAD,**_**NOW!**" he raged.

"Um Gilbert, he's dead."

Immediately, Gilbert went back to normal. "Oh, and Hungary/Elizabeta told me that she was being possessed by a staff-"

Gilbert looked at him again. Suspiciously, Gilbert stared at Viktor. "Did the bastard Prevett have the staff? Was he in Vienna?" he questioned.

"Actually, yeah."

Gilbert looked like he was going to panic, his red eyes wide. "This is _not _good, Viktor. _Not _good at all." Gilbert muttered, as the plane soared through the sky like a bullet.

"For what reason?" Viktor asked.

"I'll explain..." Gilbert said, as Viktor learned the secrets of 2000 years in 3 hours, while the plane, carrying 520 passengers, hovered over the clear sunset of day, and set off for a crazy adventure.

* * *

><p><strong>Fort Dawson, In Lake Geneva, French-Swiss Border<strong>

Desmond couldn't help but feel thanks for his rescuers.

They had found him, bleeding heavily, in the wreckage of the Blackhawk's cockpit, barely alive. They had taken him to the makeshift-hospital in the fort, where he had a blood transfusion just hours ago.

Now, he felt well enough to talk, and boy did he!

"So, now that we rescued you, you have to return the favor."

Wait, what?!

"Don't worry, we're just going to ask a few questions." the nurse said, with an Android tablet in her hands.

"So first, what is your name?"

"My name is Desmond Miles, but I usually go by Desmond Child, because of the irony my name has with an early-century video game character." _Yeah, because I'm _also _in a secret society, same as Desmond Miles from Assassin's Creed._

"What's your business here?" the nurse asked, smiling, and ready to write more on the tablet.

"You do work for the Swiss, right? And not any of France's allies?" Desmond questioned. "Of course I don't! Why would I care about Napoleonland?" she gasped in shock.

Desmond continued. "Alright, I wasn't meant to be in Switzerland, much less an aerial battle, at all. I was traveling from Barcelona with Field Marshal Keating, who was killed in the crash, in a Apache Blackhawk helicopter. After crossing the Catalonian-French border, we then faced a Swedish aerial task force. Although we repelled the attack, we ran out of fuel, crashing into Lake Geneva."

The nurse was genuinely amazed, staring in awe. "...so that's how I ended up in a Swiss medical hospital. Anymore questions?" Desmond asked. "Um...yeah, there's no more..." she stuttered.

Desmond grinned, and thanked the nurse. She smiled back, as Desmond walked out of the room, and into a temporary room for soldiers. He sighed, jumping onto the bed, and smothered his face into the soft, fluffy pillow, going to bed.

Meanwhile, the military leaders of the garrison were communicating with Global Command in London, via livestream, in the briefing room. All of the supervisors of the campaign fronts were on the screen, along with the Supreme Commander, the personification of England, and the political leaders of the Euro Coalition's countries.

"_So, everyone. We have received reports that an unidentified helicopter crashed into the water near our garrison at Fort Dawson. After investigation and questioning, we have discovered that the deceased body was of..._"

"Come on, you wanker; what is it?" Arthur Kirkland, or England grunted impatiently, in the briefing room.

"_...hold on, I'm getting my papers...just wait..._"

Arthur suddenly had the feeling that something bad was going to happen, then. He then, all of a sudden, felt a pain in his chest, like someone important and English had just died.

"_...got it!_"

Arthur gasped, when he said the name of the person who had died in the crash.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**Cliffhanger! As if that wasn't bad enough!**

**Anyways, I'm going on vacation next Friday, and I won't be back until August 3rd. So, I'll try to finish a chapter or two by then!**

**Remember to favorite and follow! Also, don't forget to R&R!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	5. Crimea Finale and Lake Geneva

**Summary:**

******What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves. ******

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 5 - More Places!**

**M16 HQ, London, England, 2:30 AM UTC  
>May 2nd, 2071<strong>

"_...it was Pilot James Kent, who's cause of death was via burning, drowning, and rupture of vital organs._"

Arthur sighed a collective sigh, after his unnecessary gasp, before the Supreme Commander finished.

"_However, our top commander in Spain, Haytham Keating, was put into a coma by the crash. We don't know when he'll wake up, but it's not any time soon._"

There wasn't a face, that wasn't in either rage, or shock, on the livestream.

**Dwight D. Eisenhower Military Base, Outside of Brussels, Belgium, 6:43 AM UTC  
>May 3rd, 2071<strong>

A shadowed figure walked through the door, kicking the iron screw loose. With great effort, he pulled a brown, lagging suitcase into the room. Grinning maniacally, the figure carefully slid out the electric panel board, replacing the black wiring with a mysterious black box.

"See all of you fucking bastards in hell." the figure smiled, flipping a switch.

The final thing he would ever hear, the sound of silence, suddenly engulfed his senses in blinding and deafening plumes of white, blood red, grey, and then finally black, as an inferno raged through the figure's remaining corpse, burning it to hell.

**Close to the Hagia Sophia, Istanbul, Turkey, 9:43 AM Local Time**

"...and that's where Francis got-"

A steady stream of blood started to flow out of Belle's torso suddenly, as she fell towards the ground. "Oh Allah! Someone call the hospital!" a man shouted, pulling out a phone.

As the crowd started to converge on Belle and the man she was speaking to, another man, with a business suit, started to panic. "She's not breathing! I'll start CPR!" a random teenager yelled, beginning the process of CPR.

"Everyone shut up! And get off of Belle!" The crowd looked towards a tall man, donning an olive-green mask. People started to yell at him, but he retorted. "All of you, get the fuck out of Belle's way!"

Everyone fell silent, as he raced towards Belle. When he got to her, his face went from anger, to pure rage and wrath: Belle was still bleeding, showing no sign of slowing blood, and still unconscious, but now pale.

"Those fucking bastards! Goddammit, someone get me a car now!" the man screamed, kicking the teen who had started CPR in the groin, and taking over the procedure. "Oh, so who made you in charge? The president?" a obvious foreigner sneered at the man, as someone drove a car on to the street.

The man gave the foreigner a sharp glare, with cold fury. "Oh, so you want to know? Well, my name is Sadiq Adnan, and I just so happen to be this woman's brother! So shut the fucking hell up, or I'll kick all of you 7 different ways to hell!" Sadiq hissed.

The crowd stood silent, then started to reluctantly leave the premises, some giving the bird to Sadiq. "_Come on Belgium, you can make it!_" Sadiq thought for 20 minutes, before the paramedics arrived, doctors and four other men in tow.

"Sadiq! How is Belle?! We saw the news, and oh, was it terrible!" one of the men shouted, as Sadiq got into the ambulance. Sadiq rubbed his facemask. "What news, Arthur?" Arthur's ears were burning at the tips. "You bloody wanker, just, just read this! It's terrible news!"

Sadiq sighed, as the man pulled out his own phone, and opened the CNN app.

**Terror in Belgium: Brussels devastated by internal explosion  
><strong>by: Andrea Zucker  
>updated 9:37 AM CEST, Wed June 3rd, 2071<p>

**(CNN) **- No one in Belgium will be able to sleep tight tonight: early this morning, the Belgian capital of Brussels, and the surrounding areas, were devastated by a multi-explosive chain bomb. The cause of detonation, the bio-effects, and the contents of the bomb are mostly unknown for the time being, but the Beilschmidt-Bernstein Institute of Technology's campus in Amsterdam, have picked up small amounts of radiation coming from Ground Zero, and spiked readings of carbon monoxide particles. **  
><strong>

It is unclear how the explosion occurred, but evidence suggests that a terrorist placed several different bombs in and out of Brussels, eventually lighting them all at the same time, at 6:44 AM, UST. The death toll is also uncertain, with some estimates bringing the total amount dead, to about 600,000 dead and severely injured. The proximity of the damage has been estimated to cover most of Southern Flanders, and most of Northern and Central Wallonia, even knocking out foreign power lines to Luxembourg, the Netherlands, and as far north as Denmark.

With most of the Euro Coalition's strongest member besides England in Western Europe devastated, and its' main suppliers of guns, automobiles, and airplanes all but destroyed, this is a major setback for the EC's cause, but not as bad as the aftereffects the disaster has on the Western European biosphere. "From our estimates, as least, the North Sea's entrance from the English Channel, the Elbe River, and the Baltic Sea will be rendered unusable, and dangerous for air travel for 3 months, at the least, and 7 months for sea travel. The air [around the English Channel's entrance] has become a gigantic electrical conductor, that can kill a man in 5 seconds if exposed, and the acidity of the sea has been acidified, to a deadly pH of 2.4 on the English coastline, and a 1.9 on the Belgian coastline." a German scientist, Hans Beilschmidt, said earlier this morning. Due to this disaster, conventional air travel will be barred from passing over the following countries: England, Belgium, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, Scotland, Norway, France, the Autonomous State of the German Rhineland, Switzerland, and Sweden, for the next 96 hours.

Also due to the disaster, the Swiss borders on the German-Swiss Rhineland, the Alps, and on Lake Geneva have been secured, preventing any kind of entry through any borders, except for the Northern Italian border, controlled by the Euro Coalition. Time will tell if the Euro Coalition, much less Belgium, can recover from this gigantic setback.

"Yeah...that's what happened with Belle..." Arthur scratched his head, not seeing the raging Turk punch his groin. "Arthur, why was I not informed of this?" Sadiq hissed. "You bloody..." Arthur groaned in pain, then paled at Sadiq's darkening aura.

"You sure as hell know, that the main keeper is in a coma, the backup is probably dead, and that the final resort could kill us all! With only limited and risky options, the book and key can be deciphered! Can you even conceive how deadly the book can be, or even was. Like the Soviet Union? Or the fucking Nazis?! Hell, if the Templars found it, they would not hesitate to establish their New World Order, at all?!"

Sadiq stopped, to see Arthur, pale white, and in shock. "And we only have one way, to not kill us all." Sadiq smiled, pulling up an image of a familiar place. "Hey, that looks like...No, not..."

Sadiq drew a large, black dot on their destination. "Yep Arthur. It's showtime. See you in Atlanta."

**Ruins of Baltimore, Maryland, in the Union-Communist War Zone, 5:32 AM EST  
><strong>**July 17th, 2070**

_The smell of sulfur-ridden smoke was uncanny, with guns smoking non-stop, firing rounds at the heavily-armoured American Communist soldiers. "_Ben! We're losing ground!_" a voice yelled through the radio. "Shit! Guys, we need to retreat! We can't hold the city for much longer!" Ben yelled to his friends._

_"Um Ben...we're out of ammo." one of Ben's friends exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Fuck this! Guys, we did a a good job holding off the invaders, buying enough time for the President to leave! But we need to go, pronto!" Ben's friend Steve said. _

_"_Ben! We're dropping out of the danger zone!_" the voice of the comm shouted. Suddenly, a loud BOOM! shook the ruins of the Orioles' stadium. The stadium had fallen into disuse, after the PELF outlawed any national sports teams, except for wrestling and swimming. _

_Then, a year after the liberation of Washington, the stadium and most of Baltimore were firebombed by the invading British and German Air Forces in 2051. Finally, the stadium was mostly leveled during the infamous Earling Offensive into the Eastern United States, leaving only the abandoned, dusty locker rooms intact._

_Ben snapped back to reality, raging mad when he heard about the tens of thousands of soldiers, civilians, and children taken captive, sent to horrible prison camps in New Mexico, where they suffered horrible atrocities committed by the American Communist Army._

_As Ben thought of the moment, when he discovered that his sister Emily was taken captive after the Battle of Harper's Ferry, he then thought about the CSA base in Nevada that he and his crew of friends blew up, with cold, yet sweet revenge._

_"Where's the damn extaction point?!" Ben yelled, as he ran, shooting and slaying a CSA marine with a stab in the back. The ground was caked in Ben's fresh blood, the dried blood of innocents killed during the Invasion of Baltimore, and the caked blood of his comrades, trying to retake and hold the city, on multiple occasions._

_Suddenly, sirens started to blare in Ben's ears. "Why the hell are the warning sirens going off?!" Ben shouted. "Our plane! Hallelujah!" Steve cried in joy, running up to it. "Alrighty then! Get in, everyone!" Ben yelled, jumping onto the inside landing point._

_"What the hell took you so long?! The extraction corridor is going to close in 15 minutes!" the pilot berated the crew, as Ben, Steve, and the 3 other teens buckled up their seatbelts. "Come on, let's go already!" Joey, the explosives expert wasn't usually patient, and wasn't in this one, as usual._

_Explosions rocked the entire plane, the little bits of concrete flying everywhere. "That's a damn shame. One moment, majestic. Next one, a pile of metal and concrete, burning alike." Joey remarked. "I feel real bad inside, for the old residents of the city." Steve sighed, as the Lockheed Martin C-5 Super Galaxy took off._

_"Well, you don't see planes this nice anymore." Ben thought. Because of total isolation, the world wasn't able to progress as fast as it could have, even with innovations coming in from Asia and the Baltics. It wasn't helped either, by the global depression that resulted from the gigantic stimulus package, that destroyed Europe's economy in return, sowing the seeds for the gigantic war that Americans called World War III._

_"Come on, we're getting out of here! With Tyler's air cover, we should be out of here in 10 minutes! That means NOW!" the pilot screeched, shushing the crew, and turning on the engine. "Now, for takeoff!" the pilot yelled, as Joey closed the doors into the plane. The gasoline thrust propelled the plane into the dangerous air, as the grey, dull hull of the Super Galaxy shined through the chaos of Baltimore._

_"Come on men; we're goin' home."_

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**HOLY MOTHERF***ING GOD.**

**That was an intense chapter to write, and it's quite depressing, if you live in Baltimore, or ever been to it.**

**Also, if you're confused, here is a summary of what happened in America (so far) from background:**

**After the PELF was ousted, the EU sent a gigantic, $400 billion dollar stimulus package to the USA. However, it put them into a monstrous debt, causing it to fall apart. Then, stuff happened, and the CSA (Communist States of America) were formed. Allying with France, it declared war on every single country in the world (that wasn't on France's side), and invaded the United States. They are now locked in a major war, with the American Confederation, a loose confederation of former American regions, and also countries in South America, and the United States, split into two, the eastern part's capital being Montpelier, while the western part's is Seattle.**

**A new chapter will be up soon! Until then, PLEASE READ!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	6. A Day in Warring Europe

**Summary:**

********What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves.********

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 6 - The Matter of Secrecy, Captivity, and Revolution**

**In Front of the Brandenburg Gate, 2:34 PM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 5th, 2071<strong>

"The history of the Brandenburg Gate was a treasured, historic one: The Prussian king, Friedrich Wilhelm had commissioned the construction of the wall to represent peace, which was originally built between 1788 and 1791; then, Napoleon came along after the Prussians lost at Jena in 1806, and took 2 things: the first being the famous quadriga that was originally returned, but also an obscure object, that me and my fellow Keepers of St. Mary have identified as the 3rd staff, now located in England."

The man stopped to take a breath, as he and another person walked through the mostly-empty street of Berlin. "So, what do you think Ludwig?"

The German man known as Ludwig sighed, rolling his blue eyes to the side. "Herr Kirkland, I know that mein bruder is part of this. And I know that Prevett is the mastermind of all of this. But I have no plans to help the cause, unless and until the world is facing an imminent threat. And although the Templars could succeed, they are losing bitterly. Darren, just, no."

Darren sighed. This was going nowhere. "Well, we'll see who's talking, when Russia falls to the Austrians. Despite this, good luck." Darren yelled, running away.

Ludwig was blank-faced, staring. After a few minutes, he started walking to his destination again. All of a sudden, while he was walking, he started feeling something weird.

_What could this feeling be...? I haven't felt it since 1933..._

He kept walking, until suddenly, his chest was burning. "**Scheiße!**" he yelled, clutching his heart. Then, he saw what was going on: he saw a mass of random citizens suddenly ripping off their clothes, revealing Olish grenadier uniforms, and pulling out PKM's. The small force of about 24 soldiers started shooting at random citizens, starting a killing spree.

Ludwig started to get up, his hand grasping his chest. "There he is!" a grenadier yelled, as they ran down the street to Ludwig's position. "Scheiße!" he swore, as he started to trot to a safe position.

"Get him!" the grenadier cried, commanding 4 other soldiers to follow him. The others started to throw grenades at the Reichstag Building, while some others opened the doors.

"Flame the insides!" the commander shouted, as a soldier torched the fancy furniture and melted the window glass. The wooden doors to the building burned to a crisp, the 2nd phase of the operation could begin.

"Commander Łukasiewicz, Phase 2 is ready." the commander of the 24-men unit briefed into a radio. "Shall we begin?"_  
><em>

The commander on the other side of the radio laughed. "_Like, yeah. You can totally start! I'll, like, send the planes to your, like literally, to your position._"

The commander facepalmed, but spoke again. "Alright then. Men, begin Phase 2!"

Meanwhile, Ludwig was being chased down by 5 Polish soldiers, through Berlin. He felt the effects of only one tranquilizer dart, yet he was starting to feel tired, despite his heavy immunity. _Must be fatigue,_ he thought, running.

All of a sudden, he saw flames go up in a familiar place. "No...they didn't just..."

The flames from the burning Reichstag were being felt by Ludwig, as he fell towards the ground. "He's down! Go get him, now!" a soldier cried out. Ludwig was almost falling into unconsciousness, when suddenly, he heard 4 gunshots.

Looking up, he saw the personification of Northern Ireland, also known as Darren Kirkland, giving the bird to the Polish soldiers, while firing 5 shots from his pistol.

"What..." Ludwig said, shaking, as Darren got off of the crates he was standing on. "This is not good at all...you've got 2nd-degree burns everywhere on your chest..."

Ludwig looked, to see his bleeding chest, and countless burns covered in blood. "Come on, we need to-"

"Not so fast."

Darren and Ludwig turned around, to find a man in a truck, wielding a machine gun. "You! So you're the one who's been bombing Berlin!" Darren spat, holding Ludwig on the shoulders.

"Yes, it's me. Now, hands up, or the German dies." the man said. "And how will you do-"

Suddenly, an explosion rocked the street. "Shit, they're here!" the man in the truck yelled, as he started to drive away. "Well, just go with the flow then!" he yelled pressing a button, while he drove away at ridiculous speeds.

The streets of Berlin were filled with fire and debris, as the gigantic and bombing-modified 747's threw tons of C4 and napalm to the ground. The Karl-Marx-Allee went from a 90 meter-wide road into piles of fiery debris.

"I...how...how were they able to..." Ludwig stuttered, in a shaky voice.

Darren stood, vigilant. "There _had _to have been a traitor. Nothing like this could have happened, without inside info."

At that moment, Ludwig felt jolts in his left shoulder and upper body. Then, more injuries rapidly ran up Ludwig's upper body. "This isn't the only invasion. We fail-"

Suddenly, Ludwig felt silent, feeling a burning sensation in his head. Darren stared, in shock. "No...they didn't..."

**In The Skies of Pomerania, _Sierpień Berkley_, 2:36 PM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 5th, 2071<strong>

"_Factum est_." the pilot said, semi-guilty, watching the mushroom cloud engulf Rostock. "Next, Schwerin."

The people in the back were throwing C4 and other explosives, but the back room dropped atomic bombs on-demand on the German cities. All of them had gone up in flames and smoke, with the glaring exception of Dresden:

A certain idiotic pilot had botched the bombing operation, detonating the bomb intended for Dresden and its outskirts on Prague, and crashing near the Czech-German border. It was the final stronghold in Northeastern Germany, containing dozens of weapon depots, and 4 airbases to launch fighters and bombers at Poland.

"Wait, what is that?!" the pilot gasped staring out of the cockpit. His co-pilot squinted. "Oh fu-"

The AIM-54 Phoenix blew burning gasoline onto the cockpit's windshield, burning it to oblivion. Then, the American-made, but foreign-launched AAM exploded in the face of the pilot.

Meanwhile, in the cockpit of another plane, a pair of teenagers high-fived. "Taken down, motherfuckers!" the younger teen shouted, turning on the radio. "_Lieutenant Hastings, what is the status report?_"

The older teen grinned. "The fuckers were sent to oblivion in the sky, by an AAM."

"_WHAT?! Do you realize what you just did?!_"

The younger teen frowned. "What?"

Then, the pair saw their near sight: an entire silo of missiles were heading their way.

"Frank, we're pulling out!" the older teen yelled, pulling a barrel roll to the left. "We need to evade the missiles! But how..." Frank wondered. "Frank, deploy the flares!" the older teen shouted.

"Where are they...they got to be in here...ah hah!" Frank picked up a mini-canister that looked like a mini-rocket, and dropped it into the sky. The missiles started to follow, when the older teen realized what missiles they were.

"Frank, close the door!"

"Wait, wh-"

"JUST DO IT!"

Then, the older teen saw the front of the windshield: it was the burning, smoking ruins of Berlin, and in the sky, they could see Polish planes and soldiers taking the ground.

"We need to find a certain man...his name, I forgot, but he has blue eyes, blonde hair, and a German accent...that's our mission, now that we saved Schwerin...we need to extract him from the Polish grip."

"Yeah, we really-Caleb, AHEAD!"

Caleb failed to notice the street, as the plane took a nosedive into the riverbank of the Spree, where a Polish tank was positioning into. "FUCK." was the last thing Frank yelled, before blacking out.

**Days Later  
><strong>**Unknown Location**

Frank blinked his eyes open a few times, to find himself ties up, and in a chair. "Good...he's woken up." a man, wearing a bathrobe, said, entering the room. "Alright, who the fuck are you? And where am-AHHH!"

The man pressed a button, promptly signaling the chair Frank was in to shock him. "_You _don't ask the questions. _I do._" he glared. "So, you tell me your name, and I will tell you mine.

"Why would I ever-AHHH! God, it hurts so-AHHH!"

The bathrobe man narrowed his eyes. "So, you won't break. I suppose that we could send you to 'special conditioning'...in New Mexico."

Frank's eyes widened in fear. "NO! Anything but New Mexico! Please!"

"Guards, take him to his cell."

"NOOO!" Frank screamed, as the tall, burly guards dragged him into a prison cell. "See 'ya." one of the guards sarcastically said, the other laughing at his joke. "No...I failed in my personal mission, and now, I'm a POW."

"Hey."

Frank turned to one side of the wall. "Are you talking to me?" Frank asked.

Then, 4 bricks popped out of the wall.

"Ja. Who are you?"

"I'm Frank Jones, and I was captured by whoever these people are. Who are you?"

Frank stared at the other prisoner's blue eyes. "Well, my name is Ludwig Beilschmidt, but you can call me Germany."

**Budapest, Hungary, 7:34 PM Local Time (CEST)  
><strong>**May 6th, 2071**

_Hear the song of the falling rain  
>Coming down like an Armageddon flame (Hey!)<br>The shame, the ones who died without a name_

The protesters who were at Heroes' Square were chanting the old, American punk song, in response to the failing government's response to the War of French Succession, also honoring the ones who died defending the outpost in Ukraine in 2067, which was similar to the Alamo for the Americans.

_Hear the dogs howling out of key  
><em>_To a hymn called 'Faith and Misery'  
><em>_And bleed, the company lost the war today_

Now the police dogs were coming in. They were unleashed upon the protesters, mauling the ones who tried to climb the velvet-covered colonades. This caused the crowd to start firing on the army and policemen at the scene.

_I beg to dream and differ, from the hollow lies  
><em>_This is the dawning of the rest of our lives  
><em>_On Holiday_

The government had become increasingly corrupt in the years during the war, stealing citizens' revenue to pay for the president's private mansion, and hiding information of mass killings of their fellow people in the New Mexico death camps.

_Hear the drum pounding out of time  
><em>_Another protester has crossed the line  
><em>_To find the money's on the other side_

More and more protesters had arrived, eventually engulfing the bottom end of District XIV, to the Duma River's banks, and trapping almost 700 policemen and soldiers in the deadly protest area. Then, the drums started to bang. This signaled the protesters, to start to overrun the surrounding districts, with force, and kill any law enforcement near Heroes' Square.

_Can I get another Amen? (Amen!)  
>There's a flag wrapped around a score of men<br>A gag, a plastic bag on a monument_

The Hungarian Freedom Movement's flag, a tricolor of light green, white, and light red, was brought up to the top of the colonades, as the velvet curtain was thrown onto the dead, bloody corpses of policemen and soldiers, alike. "Viva la Free Hungary!" the men who brought up the flag cheered, the crowd roaring in approval.

The protesters marched through Northern Budapest, burning any government buildings or law enforcement structures in their way. Then, they heard the familiar guitar riff from Holiday. Yelling, they shouted:

_The representative from Budapest has the floor!  
>Zieg Heil to the presidential gasman<br>Bombs away is your punishment!_

_Pulverize the fucking government  
>Who destroy your self-governance!<em>

_Bang, bang goes the broken glass  
>Kill all the fuckwads that don't agree!<br>_

The protesters set their sights on the Sándor Palace, torches, rifles, and blades in hand. Breaking open the doors, they started to burn the interior. A man, a woman, and 3 children entered the main room. "What the hell is going-"

"There he is! Kill him!" someone yelled, which caused the people in the front to fire their assault rifles at the 5 people. 67 shots, 142 stabbings, and multiple 3rd degree burns, the president of Hungary, and his immediate family were dead.

_Trial by fire, setting fire  
>Is not the way it's meant for me<br>Just cause, just cause we're outlaws, yeah_

The main defense of Budapest was mostly depleted, by the time the protester-turned rebels proclaimed control over all of Hungary's territory before the war, also declaring independence from Austria. When 3:00 PM in Budapest, May 7th happened, the blades of steel clamped onto its' wooden platforms.

"Oh, it's teatime."

And went off with Isaac Prevett's head.

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**I just decided to put Holiday in there. It took FOREVER to write...**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter, and R&R!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	7. Farewell, and Adieu

**WARNING:**

**There is character death this chapter. You have been warned.**

* * *

><p><strong>Summary:<strong>

********What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves.********

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 7 - Secrets, Escape, Roses, and Arrival**

**Unknown Location, 7:20 PM Local Time (MAGT)  
>May 7th, 2071<strong>

"Begin Plan Breslau." the man at the head of the mahogany desk commanded. "It will be done, sir." the guard in the uniform replied, marching out of the room. "Finally...now our plans come to fruition."

The man cackled, as he pressed a red button on his computer.

**Budapest, Hungary, and Its' Surrounding Areas, 7:23 AM Local Time (CEST)  
><strong>**May 7th, 2071**

The streets were filled with the blood of innocents, filled with pent-up hate and anger, unleashed with a burning fury. The entire capital had fallen into anarchy, except the districts that were under siege, Districts IV, III, and VI, which were being attacked by police mobs of protesters, wielding flamethrowers and rocket launchers.

All districts (excepting the under-siege disricts) were literally up in flames, when the retreating Austrian armies came within 50 miles of Budapest. Responding with the infliction of the biggest loss of life inflicted on one side, since World War I, the protesters mauled the poorly-equipped soldiers brutally.

There was a military base, that stood between the armies, about to be slaughtered by the two clashing sides, holding a small command group of 200 soldiers, 3 young men, and two personifications of nations.

"Oh crap! This is not looking good..." Gilbert muttered, watching Elizabeta, pale and unconscious, be hooked up to IV's. "Mr. Beilschmidt, young Mrs. Héderváry is in shock right now. Her vital signs are starting to drop to a fatal level, and she's close to the point of no return."

Gilbert paled, watching the heartbeat meter decrease. If Elizabeta didn't get better in a hurry, she would be dead. Just like the likes of Germania and Ancient Rome, she would be in their numbers.

Then, Gilbert remembered the signing of the dissolution treaty. He closed his eyes, and thought about that day:

_It had been a dark morning, on the day of the dissolution. Prussia, for the first time ever, was in a situation to die. He couldn't get out of bed, and was speaking in a raspy voice. Meanwhile, Germany was right by his side, comforting him, yet crying at the same time._

_"Bruder...I know you will make it. I just know it." Germany shed yet more tears. "Mein bruder...promise me...if I die...say goodbye to Liz for me..." Prussia spoke in a raspy voice._

_"Germany! Germany! Is Big Brother Prussia going to live?" Italy ran into the room, crying like a baby. "Also...give the prissy a 'fuck you...for me..." Prussia smiled, knowing his time was near._

_"Yes Italy...I know he will." Germany smiled sadly._

Later though, the final moment was coming.

_"Gil...it's been great having you." France remarked, somberly, watching outside the window of the Berlin hotel. "Yep Francis...it's been awesome..." _

_Then, France's alarm watch started to ring. "5..."_

_Prussia looked around his final resting place: a luxury hotel, with all the things you could ever ask for. His final moments would not be sacrificing his life for his comrades; instead, he would die a peaceful death, one with dying easy._

_"4..."_

_He started to remark on his accomplishments during his long life. He helped define Russia (_not an awesome one_, he remarked), he raised Germany (_OK, with help from the prissy, _he thought, laughing to himself), and he helped America become a nation (_now THAT's awesome!, _he said to himself)._

_"3..."_

_Prussia thought about all that he did. He gave forgiveness to Hungary, for their childhood. He also apologized to Germany for (technically) starting World War I, and forgave France and Spain for anything bad he ever did to them._

_"2.."_

_Closing his eyes, he saw the glow of heaven. A glorious one, one that shined so brightly, like a star. He saw Old Fritz, and his 3,000 previous Gilbirds, imagining saying hi to all of his friends. Then, seeing Germania, he imagined running up to him, laughing like a little child, and with love._

_"1.."_

_Thinking to himself, he said, "_It's been a great life._"_

_Then, the clock stuck zero._

_Prussia closed his eyes. Then, he blinked. France was still there, and he could see the joy-filled crowd running up to their loved ones, reuniting after years of separation. "I'm...I'm alive!" Prussia said, watching the ticking clock hit 12:05._

_France stood, wide-eyed in astonishment. "Then that means..."_

_The door opened, as Germany ran into the room, with the rest of the G8 (besides Russia) and Spain. "Mi amigo, you're alive!" Spain gasped, running up to Prussia. Germany stared in awe, completely speechless._

_"Bruder...just a question...what do you feel right now?" Germany asked his older brother. Closing his albino-red eyes, and then opening them again, Prussia replied. "I feel the joy of millions of people, all rushing through my heart."_

Gilbert now felt empathy for the dying Hungarian, suddenly rushing to get medical supplies. "Mr. Beilschmidt, what are you doing?!" the doctor yelled. Prussia glanced at him, then returned to gathering supplies. "I'm going to save her. I'm going to save her beautiful life."

Then, Viktor came running in. "Gil, we have massive trouble! The Hungarian protesters and the Austrian armies are enclosing our escape route! We need to get out of here, pronto!"

Gilbert looked out the window, and sure enough, he saw thousands of civilians, wielding guns and artillery, with dark smoke rising behind them. "Shit...did they just burn Budapest?"

"We're getting out of here! Gil, we're leaving now!"

Gilbert stared at Viktor. "Do you have space on the transport for a stretcher?"

**Palace at Versailles, France, 10:30 AM Local Time (CEST)**

The leader of the French rebellion stood in his dark and damp prison cell. He was ready, and his captors knew it too. Then, he saw two men, dressed like prison guards. "Jean, the time is here." one of the men said. Jean knew. The rebellion had fought well, but not well enough, to simply drain the Coalition's morale.

"Yes, I know Claude. We almost did it. But alas, we simply could not win. And look around Paris, and you'd see the effects of the revolution." Jean laughed a bit, then sobered up. "Come on, let's go you little rascal." Claude smiled, as he dragged Jean, albeit jokingly, out of the prison cell, and into the hallway.

As they walked, Jean looked out the window. He saw dozens of young men he recognized, tied up, and being marched to the damp, dusty prison cells he was just in. Looking further, he could see the fallen remains of what was once the Notre Dame, being cleaned up by captured French soldiers.

Depressing as it was, Jean looked even further, glancing a quick bit at the center of Paris. It was heavily damaged, in the initial stages of the war, by the British bombing campaign. However, it was felt the worst among the French populace, when dozens of historic monuments were leveled, along with the Notre Dame.

Finally, the trio came to a golden-painted door, where there were 4 armed men. "Are you Jean Louis?" one of the door guards questioned Claude. "_Oui, _this is Jean Louis." Claude replied, without pause or hesitation in his words.

The guards nodded among each other, before one spoke. "You may proceed." As Jean and Claude, along with the other man entered the room, they noticed the mahogany table, with 3 chairs, two already occupied by the emergency military governor of Belgium, Supreme Marshal Charles MacArthur, and the prime minister of the Kingdom of England, George Sherwich.

"Hello Jean, I see you have some friends. And I don't mean to offend them in any way, but may I ask for them to leave the room?" Charles asked. "Oh sure, that's fine. Yeah, we'll leave now."

As Claude and the other man left the room, Jean turned around, and saw a piece of paper and pen. "So Mr. Louis; shall we begin?"

**Aboard a 737, Above The Austro-Hungarian Border, 11:35 AM Local Time (CEST)**

"Hurry up! We have a life we need to save!" Gilbert yelled, looking out the window. The protesters were starting to break the electric fences and knock the doors out, as Gilbert, Viktor, and Vladimir struggled to load their cargo onto the commercial plane.

"Come on, they're in the depot!" Viktor shouted, getting into the plane, and closing the doors. Gilbert hurdled into the pilot's seat, and said something via the radio.

"_Good morning men. This is Flight 34, heading to Vienna, Austria. Please fasten your seatbelts, and keep your weapons within 2 feet of your seat. Thank you very much._"

Gilbert then fiddled with the buttons- "What the hell are you doing?! Do you even know how to fly a fucking plane?!"-then gave Viktor a smirk.

"Trust me, the awesome me knows."

Viktor sighed, as Gilbert started up the plane's taxi options. "Go right!" Viktor yelled, opening the window, and started to shoot the Austrian soldiers in his sight.

Gilbert sighed. "The awesome me knows where to go, and how to fly a plane!"

"Alright, alright!" Viktor said, exasperated, as he pulled out the plane's radio. "_Passengers, be prepared for take-off._"

"What he said!"

Then, as Gilbert was accelerating to take-off, he looked to see what was on the runway:

The protesters had reached the runway, and some were launching non-lock-on rockets at the 737. "Shit! I'm going up!" Gilbert yelled, as he flew a hard right into the sky, narrowly dodging the rockets that were flown into the base.

"Alright! We're in the clear!" Gilbert fistpumped, as soon as they knew they were out of Hungarian airspace. "Um, yeah Gilbert...you didn't tell the German Air Guard you were coming..." Viktor stammered.

Once Gilbert realized this, he facepalmed, and started to sharply turn left, accelerating the plane to a somewhat dangerous 500 mph, and alerting the GAG to his presence.

"_Pilot, this is the German Air Guard. Land now, or be fired upon._"

Viktor was raging at Gilbert right now, because he was now in (potential) trouble with the German authorities. "Gil, just land the freaking plane!"

"I think we can get to the Austrian border before the GAG can shoot down! We'll be out of the Germans' jurisdiction if we get to the airfield first!"

"Well, then JUST DO IT!"

"Oh my God, Gilbert! We have really bad news!" Vladimir suddenly ran into the cockpit. "What-"

Then, Gilbert heard the sound of beeping medical equipment. "Oh my God...they killed her..."

**Outside of the Gregor Stanton Air Base, Near Sopron, Austria, 6:23 PM Local Time (CEST) **

"It's time."

Gilbert pulled the stretcher out of the plane, filled with sorrow, and for the first time since the end of World War II, was in complete shambles. He pulled the white cloth over Elizabeta's body, and for the first time in a while, he prayed to God, that Elizabeta would be safe.

"They...they _killed _her..." Gilbert was still in shock, tears in his eyes. "She...she didn't deserve to die..."

Gilbert took one last glance at the now-passed personification of Hungary, and cursed Roderich, Isaac Prevett, along with the devil to hell. Hungary was now dead, and Gilbert couldn't stop the revolutionaries.

But he could, yet he didn't. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't fast enough. Elizabeta was dead, and Gilbert could do nothing now. Elizabeta's body was being placed in the coffin, that would eventually be burned, by Elizabeta's request.

"Color Guard, please present the colors, and memorial."

The general nodded sadly to Gilbert, as the coffin was placed into another, bigger coffin, that was decorated with jewels and velvet cloth. "Memorial Guard, please fire."

**-BOOM-**

The smoke from the rifles flew into the air, as too with the bullets. "Dear God in heaven, please keep Elizabeta Héderváry safe, and in your hands." Gilbert prayed in his mind. "Memorial Guard, please lower the coffin."

Doing as the general told them to, the Guard started to lower the coffin with ropes, and into the 4-feet down pit. Viktor and Vladimir stood in reverence, themselves amazed by Elizabeta's story.

"Color and Memorial Guard, you are dismissed."

The two Guards saluted, and marched into the main building of the base, rifles slung on their shoulders. "Audience, you are dismissed." the general stated, preparing to leave himself.

As the audience left, Gilbert stayed there. "I share your pain, son." the general admitted, with empathy. Gilbert looked at him with his red eyes. "No you don't! I've known Elizabeta for-"

As the general's hand patted Gilbert's shoulder, Gilbert stopped. "Did you know, that not everyone knows about everyone?"

Gilbert thought about his quote, as he walked into the base. Suddenly, he realized it. "Gilbert, _hej_ to Arthur and Ludwig for me." he smiled. Gilbert recognized the language he was speaking in.

"Dude, say hi to Matthias for me!" he laughed in his little, freaking annoying laugh. Then, sobering up, he looked at him. "How do you know about England and Germany?"

Chuckling, the general smiled a bit. "If Arthur sees me, it'll scare all of the sarcasm out of him. And if Germany sees me, tell him that Mikkel says hi." Gilbert eyes widened, to an even more expansive rate then his awesomeness.

"Wait a minute...I know you!" Gilbert exclaimed, both shocked and amused. "Yeah, recognize me?" Mikkel asked. "Man, it's been a while...a good 436 years, hasn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**And I'll end there!**

**If you're wondering who Mikkel is, it might be helpful to know about Danish-Swedish relations before the 1700's... (HINT: That 'Union' technically exists, except through a treaty, instead of a state!)**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter, and R&R!**

**Until next time, _adieu!_**


	8. Siege & Breakthrough

**Summary:**

**********What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves.**********

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>

**Chapter 8 - Escape From Camp 39, Siege, and Breakthrough**

**Camp 39, ****Albuquerque, New Mexico, 5:30 AM Local Time (MDT)  
>May 9th, 2071<strong>

"Wake up, all of you fuckers!"

This was the call of the camp guards, as Frank rubbed his eyes. He had been deported, from his secret captivity, to the worst place on earth: a New Mexican death camp, reminiscent of a Nazi concentration camp, only much, much worse.

"Up, you little bitch!"

The guard slammed the door open, and tasered Frank's prison mate, with exceptional brutality. "Oh God! It hurts!" the prison mate screamed, in pure agony. As the camp guard shocked the prison mate with sadistic pleasure, Frank watched in horror.

He could do nothing, anyways; he was handcuffed, and only the camp guard had the keys to get him out of his bed and cell. Not even a bed; it was just a big, uncut stone, with a metal pillow.

"God! It hurts!"

Finally, the prison mate fell to the floor, weeping, and trying to nurse his electrical burns. When he touched one: "WHAT THE HELL?!" He yelled, still weeping, and fell to the floor, the guard grinning like a madman.

"Well, he's not moving." He looked at Frank. "Come on, you little bitch! It's time for role call!" He dragged Frank, punching him in the face, giving him a big bruise on his cheek. "Come on!"

Frank was dragged to a changing room, where he was forced to put on tight clothes, that were wet. Shivering, he looked over to his next place, where he was supposed to go. "Go."

He slowly walked into the main room, and started to feel a _very _cold sensation. Then, he realized the room was air-conditioned; combined with his wet, tight clothes, this made being in an AC room a living hell.

"Everyone! Roll call!"

The commander of the camp stood, donning a general's uniform, and holding a whip. "Now, let me ask you a question." He pressed a button on his laptop, lighting up the background on-stage.

The question was: "What is your allegiance?"

The commander narrowed his eyes. "Prisoner #46234, what is your allegiance?"

The prisoner stammered. "I-I am a soldier in the American-"

The commander pulled out a Glock, and fired a shot at the prisoner. Within seconds, the prisoner was dead, as the audience gasped.

The commander put his Glock on the table, and glared at the prisoner's dead corpse. "Now, if you want to live, and survive in this camp, you must go through 'Re-Conditioning'. You will be taken there now."

Suddenly, a mob of commandos dropped into the crowd, handcuffing every prisoner, and gagging them. "Take them to the Shadow Block."

The commandos threw the prisoners onto their backs, and ran out of the room. Frank was on the back of a particularly young one, a 14 year-old, and was also blinded. Then, a few minutes (or an hour later; Frank couldn't tell), he was able to see again.

Then, he saw his surroundings. He was in a laboratory, and was handcuffed, along with restrained everywhere. "Now, we're going to run some tests on you. If you succeed, you will be freed. If you fail, though, you will spend the rest of your life here, at this prison camp."

Then, the doctor turned on a speaker. A song started to play, and Frank recognized it. "_Ba-by, ba-by, b__a-by, oh!_"

"OH GOD, NOT JUSTIN BIEBER!"

* * *

><p>Once the torture was done, they realized that Frank couldn't be broken; only shaken, and eventually, killed.<p>

So, they sent him up to him cell, and signed him up for laboring for the rest of his life, a really light punishment, compared to being executed. Then, they started to make a plan, to mentally shake Frank.

On the way to his cell, Frank felt a tap on his shoulder. "H-hey, how you doing?"

He turned around, and saw a teenage girl, wearing tattered jeans, and holding a makeshift blade. "Whoa! How did you-"

"Shut up, and come here."

She dragged Frank into the corner, where he saw a little hole to slip through. "Shh! Here they come."

As Frank hid in the hole, he saw 3 other people, 2 of them girls, and the last one; well, unsure. Frank looked out, and saw a pair of guards. "Wait, did you hear that?"

Frank crouched down into the hole, doing the same as the girls and other person. "Oh come on, Gerald; it's not April Fool's!"

"I swear I heard _something_….."

The guards kept walking, as Frank sighed. "It's clear."

The girl signaled the other 3 people to get out, and as they got out, Frank saw the 'other person':

The person definitely looked like a boy, but Frank thought twice, after hearing 'him' speak. "Like, where did the guards go?"

Frank facepalmed, but kept walking, as the group walked into Frank's prison block. "Alright, we're safe. My name's Abigail; this is Jasmine;", she pointed at the brown-haired girl. "Hi."

"…this is Cali…"

Cali waved, her blonde hair waving in the air conditioned room. "Nice to meet you."

"…and this is Feliks."

The blonde haired boy stared at Frank. "Like, hello to you!"

Frank sweatdropped. "Um….Abigail….about Feliks-"

"Yeah, he's a boy."

Frank stared, and then turned away, mumbling "_Alright then__…_"

"OK then. Abigail, I've got to go. If I don't get back in my cell by 7:30, then the guard will go searching for me, and I'll be punished." Abigail looked at him, then waved. "See 'ya, then!"

Frank smiled, and then turned around, to find a towering prison guard looking at him. "So we've got a prisoner out of his cell, eh? _Jenkins, bring me a kit!_" Then, he started to drag Frank back to his cell, and literally threw him in.

"Bitch, this ain't holiday. It's a living hell, even for us."

**In The Ruins Of Vienna, Austria, 6:00 AM Local Time (CEST)  
><strong>**May 10th, 2071**

Viktor walked through the streets, with a few things in mind: the first being, _Wow, I still can't believe that this is Vienna_. After the siege, Vienna was really nothing; just a regular city in the Prevett era; full of anarchy.

But it got much, much worse. Vienna was leveled by a series of airstrikes, that coincided with Roderich and Maffeo's fight; the airstrikes probably finished the job, not Maffeo, although it might have helped win the fight.

The city was still mostly ruins, when Viktor came into the city with the soldiers, Vladimir, and Gilbert in tow, along with Mikkel. Viktor had done a little research, and asked Mikkel about it.

_"Hey Mikkel; I have a question: Did you happen to represent the Vikings?"_

_Mikkel looked at Viktor, then laughed. "Son, you have a smart mind. Yes, I used to…"_

_His face lowered a bit. "Then, the Vikings moved down to Russia. For a short time, I shared the representation with….well, the former Soviet Union….and, well, we…."_

_Viktor then put one and one together, and gasped in shock, when he realized the connection. "U-um….you aren't Ivan's….you know, _dad_…..right?"_

_Mikkel blushed a bit. "Y-yeah….I am…" He regained his composure, and continued on. "After Ivan was born, I moved back to Scandinavia. That turned out to be a _really _great idea, as the Mongols came 40 years after I left. During the Mongol times, I represented Cophenhagen, my son's capital."_

_"Well, you've certainly traveled a lot."_

_Viktor and Mikkel turned, to see Gilbert. "H-hey Gil! Did you listen to our conversation?"_

_Gilbert looked at Mikkel, mumbling "_Damn communists…._" Mikkel looked at him, and then spoke._

_"Gilbert, since the Livonian War, I've been slowly estranged from Ivan. You do remember the big siege, that me and Matthias took part in, do you? Nowadays, we can't even have a conversation without someone getting hurt or mentioning Napoleon! It's really sad, to say the least…"_

_Gilbert remembered the siege: he was a fief of Poland's during that time, and had to help fight against the Russians in the Baltics. "Well, we should go to bed. We have a long day ahead of us."_

_"Yeah, we should."_

That was last night, and that got Viktor thinking about a lot of things.

But, he had other things to attend to. He waved to the Russian soldiers, to charge into the city, and led the charge.

"EVERYONE! INTO VIENNA!" Viktor yelled, as 200 soldiers, 2 personifications, and 2 commanders charged into the city of Vienna.

**Union Bunker Lines, Colorado, Union-Communist War Zone, 11:56 PM Local Time (MDT)  
><strong>**May 9th, 2071**

The situation was a mess:

Planes were constantly bombing the Union and Communist lines, without knowing who was who, because of the deliberate attempts to pose as the enemy. Because of this, Colorado and the Rockies were basically being destroyed by the constant 8 years of fighting; before the War of French Succession even began.

Hundreds of tanks were now sunk into the bloodied, unpure snow that was still there, with millions of dollars wasted on planes that were automatically shot down before take-off, tanks that blew up in-battle, and bunkers that proved incapable of protecting the soldiers within.

Then, news came over the radio that the Union Army was going to launch a gigantic bombing campaign on the Communists, first by launching dozens of MOABs on the disputed cities of Denver, St. Louis, San Francisco, Atlanta, and Washington D.C, and then launching an entire silo of nukes at vital Communist cities, like Charleston, Houston, Los Angeles, and most important of all, Phoenix, Arizona, the capital of the Communist States of America.

But for the time being, the military had to deal with Communist submarines in the Pacific, the blockade of the Gulf and Cuba, and their own ground.

Paul Randall was just an ordinary Joe before the war: he was a cashier at a local McDonald's, and had a wife, and 2 kids.

However, when war broke out, his wife left him, and his kids were sent overseas to England, where he lost contact with them. Then, his hometown of Nashville, Tennessee was capture by the fucking Communists, where he narrowly escaped capture, and then joined the air force.

That's how Mr. Randall got into the situation he was in right now:

A fighter had attacked his squadron, carrying the MOAB they were delivering to Denver, followed by an armada of airships attacking the escort squadron. Then, Paul's plane got shot down, landing himself in the middle of the Colorado Forest.

He was injured, sure, but not severely. The forest was full of abandoned vehicles, and burning equipment; I guess you couldn't call it a forest, being a burning candle instead.

"Dammit! How will I ever get out of this labyrinth?!" Paul cursed, walking around the fiery equipment. Then, he saw a patrol. A patrol he recognized.

"Harold! It's you, ol' buddy!" Paul yelled in relief, running up to the campfire and the van.

"Ah Paul! How did you get here?" Harold asked, holding up a skewer. "You hungry?"

"Sure!"

As Paul told his story about the attack on the escort squadron, he chomped down on a venison skewer, and talked about his recent adventures.

When Paul was done, Harold spoke:

"I see! Anyways Paul, we're here, 'cause there's a prisoner trapped in the New Mexico death camps, that we need to recover. If we do, we'll get a hefty reward, for each man that participates. Wait a minute…..Paul, do you want to come?"

Paul stared at them, like they were zombies. "The death camps…..what's the reward?"

Harold laughed. "Oh; I'd say, 'bout 150 thousand, if he's alive. If he's dead, the guy he signed up for is going to kill us."

Paul just kept staring. "**WHAT.**"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**Surprisingly easy one to write!**

**I upped the rating, because of a potential smut scene next chapter. (It may count as smut, but I'm not sure.)**

**Anyways, the prison part is inspired by 'Flight of the Valkyrie' by CelticFeather, and other tics that I don't remember…..**

**Explanation Time (is a new part, where I explain historical events)!**

**-the Livonian War (1558-1583) was a war between Denmark-Norway and Sweden versus Russia; they were fighting over Livonia (modern-day Estonia and Latvia)**

**-Mikkel refers to the theory that Vikings settled in Ukraine, and established the Kievan Rus (a theory which I support)**

**-the 'former Soviet Union' will be brought up in a later chapter (it's a she; she's the Northern Slavics' mom)**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! Remember to R&R!**

**Until next time, DFTBA, and _adieu!_**


	9. Search and Discover

**Summary:**

************What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves.************

* * *

><p><strong><strong><strong>A Race Against Time<strong>****

******Chapter 9 - Search and Discover, My Lost Children, and Travel  
><strong>****

******Inside The Walls Of Vienna, Austria, 6:45 AM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 10th, 2071<strong>****

The soldiers had secured the perimeter, actively destroying all resistance in the area. A certain tower was what Gilbert was looking for, as the force moved through the area and killed Austrian resistance soldiers.

Then, Gilbert saw something. It wasn't a tower; instead, it was the ruin of the base of a building, that had been bombed by an airstrike. He knew it had been recently, because he could smell fresh napalm in the air, the smell distinctly unique.

He walked up to the building, and noticed something abnormal about the interior: a metal box thingie was nailed into the ground, which was so tall, that Gilbert had to climb it. Fortunately, it wasn't too high, so Gilbert jumped up onto the top of the metal box.

Walking to the other side, he noticed that there was a panel on the side. Jumping down, he tried to pry the panel open. It stayed there, wielded closed, like a man tried to uproot a tree with his bare hands.

"Fuck! How does this open?!" Gilbert yelled, trying to open the panel. "So..damn..hard..uh!"

Gilbert panted, as Viktor came over to him. "Gil, what's wrong?"

Gilbert started to rage. "What's wrong?! This fucking panel won't open, that's what!"

"Gil, calm down!"

Meanwhile, while Gilbert was raging at the panel, Vladimir was walking amidst the ruins. He then saw Viktor and Gilbert, Gilbert still raging while Viktor trying to calm him down, and kept walking.

Then, he reached another base ruin. He saw a chair, and sighed in relief. Walking towards it, he noticed an abandoned train behind the chair. _This place was probably a museum, _he mused, curiously.

He sat down, sighing in relief.

All of a sudden, he felt a door open. Turning around, he saw, that the front of the train had opened, and his chair was leaning towards the inside of the train. "Oh fuck!" was what he said, before falling onto the floor of the train, with his back.

A few minutes later, he noticed that the train contained inside of it equipment from World War II. He looked around, and wondered why the inside of the train had an abundance of WWII-era equipment.

Then, he saw the back of the room. The inside of the train had clearly been neglected, as it was both cold, dark, and dusty. The little daylight the sun had to offer beamed through the door that had opened, as Vladimir saw a lock.

"What the...why is there a lock on a train?"

He looked at the lock, and found a keyhole, which was dusty, and labeled 'DO NOT TOUCH; HAZARDOUS MATERIAL BEHIND'. "Huh...what does this do?" He looked at a button on the right side, and pressed it.

"Hm? OH FUCKING SON OF A BITCH!"

The floor underneath Vladimir had disappeared, which Vladimir noticed. Then, he started to fall.

"FUUUCKKKK-"

**-BAM-**

He had fallen on a bed, which was the first thing he noticed, when he woke up. Looking above, he saw that he had fallen about more than 40 feet underground, and that he was trapped.

"Damn...what time is it?"

He checked his watch, and gasped: 5 hours had passed, which meant that he had been unconscious for hours. _Wait! Do the others know that I'm missing?! Fuck!_

He started to yell. "**HELP! I'M TRAPPED DOWN HERE!**"

A few minutes later, he got a response.

"Oi! Vladimir, is that you?!"

Vladimir looked up, and sighed in relief. "Gilbert! Yeah, it's me! Hey, can you help me up?"

Gilbert looked down the hole, and nodded. "Good! Because I saw this thing, that mentioned 'the keys of Athens', and I have no-"

Gilbert ran off. "Hey! Don't leave me down here!"

20 minutes later, Gilbert came back. "Here! Grab the rope!"

A rope was thrown, deep down into the hole that Vladimir was stuck in, along with a backpack, that looked heavy.

And sure enough, the backpack literally weighed more than half of Vladimir's weight.

"Holy motherfucking son of God! How heavy is this?!"

Gilbert laughed his little annoying laugh, and then jumped down the hole. "**I AM TOTES AWESOME!**"

Gilbert missed the bed, but rebounded after doing a RL wall jump on the walls. "MOTHAFUCKER, I'M AWESOME!"

A voice called out in the distance, "_No you're not, dude; don't lie!_"

Vladimir facepalmed, and turned around. There was a torch on the side, so he decided to grab it; however, Gilbert had beaten him to the kill, seizing the torch from its pedestal, and lighting all of the torches down the hall.

"Vladimir! Down here!"

Vladimir turned, and peered down the tunnel shaft; Gilbert was waving his hands, signaling to run down to him. He sighed, and started to trot down the old tunnel.

Then, he saw what Gilbert was waving him over for: there was a large, vertical shaft, that extended another 30 feet downwards, to another tunnel shaft.

"Fortunately...I brought a bungee cord, and there's a ladder that was already here. You want to go down?"

Vladimir shot a grin.

"Eh, why the hell not? Let's go!"

**In The Rockie Mountains, Near Trinidad, Colorado, 7:00 AM Local Time (MDT)  
>May 10th, 2071<strong>

Paul rubbed his eyes, and heard the sound of the falling rain. He peered outside of the jeep window; it was pouring outside, and his fellow soldiers were still asleep.

Then Paul remembered the time from last night.

"Hey Harold! Wake up! It's seven; we've got to go!"

Harold yawned, and opened his eyes. "_Paul_...it's only seven..."

Paul shook Harold, which woke him up. "Harold, we're supposed to leave now!"

"Sheesh! Alright, I'm up, I'm up!" Harold, irritated, replied.

Paul sighed, and waited for Harold. "_SUBURBIA PATROL, AWAKE!_"

The others woke up, and silently complained. Still, they were up in a matter of minutes, and got ready to break into the Prison State of New Mexico.

As the men ate old, yet still fresh cereal bars, dunked in bourbon to keep them fresh for basically forever, Paul asked Harold a question.

"Hey Harold; how will we break in, without getting killed?"

Harold looked at him for a second, then replied. "Paul, my friend, there is no plan. The only plan is to get to the prison, kill any Communist soldiers in our way, and rescue the person for our reward."

Paul stared in shock. "Dude, we're going into the 'City of the Dead', with only 14 men, a jeep, and a full tank of gasoline, verse the biggest military power in the world? That's suicidal!"

Harold took a hard glance at the bottle of whiskey in the back. "_Oh_, that's not all. We also have our secret weapons, too, you know."

Paul kept staring, and thought to himself, _Why am I here?!_

A few hours later, the team was ready for the break-in, and driving down the only drivable route into New Mexico coming from the north.

Paul knew they were getting close, when they saw dozens of skeletons and bones starting to increase, as they got closer. They could also see a visible purple morning smog, that cloaked the smell of poison gas in the air.

A few miles from the gates, Paul could see people hanging from a galley, while a group of lost children, with dirty faces, cried in front of the galley. _I feel sorry for them...those people must be their parents..._

Then, Paul saw something _very _disturbing:

A group of 5 women were being gagged, and stripped, in front of a Communist soldier patrol. They were bleeding, and the soldiers were also taking off their clothes.

Paul closed his eyes, and when he opened them, he could see the concrete walls of the Hedgehog Line, painted black. There were dozens of soldiers positioned, and 6 tanks, blocking the gates.

"_HALT!_"

Harold stopped the jeep, and sighed, his hands up. A short, overweight officer trotted over to the jeep. "What's your business here?"

Suddenly, someone in the patrol ran out of the vehicle. "Holy shit, I need to take a shit!" The officer pointed to a bathroom. "Thank you!" the undercover soldier said, putting on his coat, and running into the bathroom.

Then, Harold put on his best Southern accent; which, compared with an actual Southerner's accent, could fool even the oldest mountain men alive:

"_Nay, _Sir. I ain't here for hollerin'; 'fact, I'm here to 'liver packages down yonder."

The fat officer looked at him. "ID?"

"Ah, here it is."

Harold handed the fat officer an ID card; it was actually a fake, stolen from a now-dead Communist soldier, that Harold had found, making his way south from Canada.

The fat officer came back. "Is your name Jeb Kins?"

Harold nodded. The short officer then gave him a heads-up to leave, as the soldier came back, running into the car. "You may leave the premises."

Harold flashed a fake smile, one that actually showed hate and agony at the Communist soldiers. "See 'ya!"

The jeep drove through the tanks, while the gates opened, revealing the New Mexican mountains. "Oh my God..."

The sides of the road were full of skulls, and dozens of captive woman soldiers were being raped by the Communist soldiers. "This is the City of the Dead, bitch! Get along with it!"

Paul stared, as a woman soldier moaned in pleasure. "God in Churchill...what the hell?..."

Then, Harold pulled out a remote control. "Watch behind you." he smiled, playfully. "Harold...what the hell did you-"

Harold pressed the button.

Paul looked behind, and saw a gigantic cloud of smoke, with a fire raging. Then, he noticed the slick path that the jeep was dropping. "Oh, you little fucker..."

The fire started to get closer to the jeep, as Paul yelled at Harold. "_**THIS **_**WAS YOUR PLAN?!**"

Harold smirked, as the fire spread to the surrounding forest and burned dozens of trees in the process. "Yep, it sure was." Harold replied.

Suddenly, Paul saw a mob of helicopters rushing to the jeep's position. Looking closer, he could see that the helicopters were black, and saw a side-panel on one, which said 'Knights Helicopter #563'.

"Is that...the New World Order?"

Paul looked back up ahead, and saw Harold pulling a stop, into the forest. "Don't do-"

Harold braked, sending the jeep, himself, and Paul into a valley, where the helicopters couldn't detect them.

Then, Paul's world went black.

**En Route To Vaduz, Liechtenstein, 3:21 PM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 11th, 2071<strong>

The train sped through the mountains, rushing past the green, pristine mossy ridges of the Alps. As the train entered a tunnel, two men in the back of the train nodded.

Pressing a button, a loud BOOM was heard in the back of the train, as the steel wheels screeched to a halt.

* * *

><p>In the front of the train, the glass cups were thrown onto the floor, smashing thousands of crystal shards up into the air. Desmond was enjoying a cup of tea, when all of a sudden, the china cup was thrown into the air.<p>

Then, the train fell into complete and utter darkness. "Goddammit! What now?!" Desmond swore. He couldn't see a thing, as he tries to look around the train, and couldn't see any light.

He was still sitting down, so at least he wouldn't fall down, and faceplant into the carpet. Fiddling around for his phone, he saw a dim light turn on in the back of the train, so at least he had some light to look for his phone.

"Ah hah! Got it!"

Desmond found his phone, and turned it on. The light of the iPhone 10 illuminated the entire train car, that had been put into darkness, and provided light through Desmond's handy flashlight app.

Suddenly, he heard a voice. "Everyone quiet, or I'll shoot you!" a voice roared, in a Swiss accent. As the man walked into the train car, it dawned on Desmond, that he knew the 23 year-old, blonde-haired, and trigger-happy recluse, who walked carrying an antique K31.

"Oh. It's you."

The blonde-haired man with the gun cocked the trigger, and aimed at Desmond, while Desmond pulled out a sniper rifle from the backpack on his back. The two glared at each other, saying at the same time:

"Oh, it's you Vash."

"Oh, it's you Desmond."

"This is just _great._"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**That was really frustrating to write; the final part kept deleting, so I was delayed one day; also, my computer was down the past 2 days, so I had to use a slow-connection computer (read: library computer).**

**But anyways, it's finally done!**

**Explanation Time!:**

**-the New World Order (or NWO) is commonly associated with the Freemasons/Knights Templar and the Illuminati; this will become a major plot point in future chapters**

**-if you're trapped in a room with absolutely no light, and you're standing up, you're doomed to fall, because your eyes cannot sense which direction is which**

**-the K31 was the standard Swiss Army gun, back during World War II**

**Anyways, hope you enjoyed this chapter! Remember to R&R, and favorite and follow!**

**Until next time, DFTBA, and _adieu!_**


	10. Mid-2071 Arc Ending

**Summary:**

**************What if the War for French Succession persisted? What may have happened, had one teen's decision in Crimea been different. The year is 2071. A conspiracy threatens to control the entire world. And further, yet, the biggest rifts, are the ones we find in ourselves.**************

* * *

><p><strong>A Race Against Time <strong>

**Chapter 10 - From Turkey to Canada, From Switzerland to France**

**Above The Skies Of France, 8:00 PM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 12th, 2071<strong>

"Well then, why isn't my computer fixed yet?!"

There was a commotion of yelling over the Skype feed, as Sadiq sighed. Looking out of the window, he could see white, fluffy clouds floating amidst the passenger aircraft, a Boeing 747.

"_That doesn't mean you should be yelling to me about it!_" Sadiq's boss yelled back. "_If anything, call the tech department about this, not me!_"

Arthur was on another flight to Hong Kong, which would redirect to San Francisco. In contrast to Arthur's flight, though, Sadiq was headed to Lisbon, then Cartagena in Colombia, and then to Halifax, which was a long-ass time.

Their destination, however, was the same: first, they would go to Atlanta, and find the Spiral Key, then sneak into the sieged capital of Washington D.C, and look for their mutual friend: Kiku Honda, or the personification of Japan, who was trapped in the city.

Sadiq tensed up, when the pilot notified the passengers on entering the 'Danger Zone', a 2,000 miles area spanning from Southern France to Morocco, and the Azores to Balear, which was the most dangerous area of Europe to travel via air.

The area was full of Spanish dogfighters, independent pilots gunning at any aircraft in the sky, and cruise missiles striking a plane every minute, which equaled hell for military aircraft, but even worse for commercial airliners.

Sadiq sighed, as he looked out the window. Starting to sink deeper and deeper into his pillow, Sadiq drifted off to a peaceful, quiet sleep. As he started to dream about Greece not existing, and all of his cats sent to the Netherlands, he failed to notice the dangers on the plane he was riding on.

* * *

><p>Sadiq was abruptly woken up by the sound of a foreign-sounding voice yelling over the intercom, and perked up. He then saw the black-masked men holding assault rifles pointing the barrels of their guns at a female passenger.<p>

Over the intercom, Sadiq heard the sound of punches thrown, and then a body falling onto the ground. Then, he heard the voices over the now-crackling intercom:

"_مرحبا، وهذا هو الإخوان المسلمين. لقد تحررت للتو الطائرة الخاصة بك من أغلال الغرب. إذا كنت لا انحني اجلالا واكبارا لمحمد في وقت واحد، وأنت وأصدقائك يعاني الموت الرهيبة، ويجري اللعينة إلى الأبد إلى الجحيم. هذا هو التحذير النهائي._"

**Mid-Note:**

**Translation: _Hello, this is the Islamic Brotherhood. We have just liberated your plane from the shackles of the West. If you do not bow to Muhammad at once, you and your friends will suffer a horrible death, being eternally damned to hell. This is our final warning._**

Sadiq started to get up, cocking the hidden pistol in his coat pocket. Seeing this, the masked men aimed at Sadiq. "If you shoot, you will kill everyone on this plane!" one of the men shouted.

Sadiq smiled, and fired the gun from his pocket, as they bullet pierced his coat's surface, striking one of the masked man's legs. "Why, you little-"

Seeing this as an opportunity, Sadiq started to run from his end of the plane, and jumped into the air, striking the other man's jaw. "Take that, you little assholes!" Sadiq yelled, firing another shot at the first man.

This time, it hit his neck, shattering the bones near his neck, and going through him, hitting the baggage compartment. The man's neck started to spew blood, as the other man watched.

But alas! He could not do a thing, as his jaw was almost shattered by Sadiq's mid-air falcon kick and his subsequent ass-kicking of the 2nd man. Turning away from the 1st man, Sadiq started to turn around.

Suddenly, Sadiq felt a bullet go through his hand. Despite him being a nation, one that was quite old, and skilled at endurance and fighting, getting shot by a cannon still fucking hurt, much less one bullet.

He recoiled back, cursing in Arabic, and looked at the 3rd man who entered the room. Sadiq looked at him, and saw him: he was a brown-haired young man, perhaps about 22 years of age; he, just like the other 2 men that Sadiq had beaten up, donned a mask. However, it was more similar to Sadiq's mask, than the others.

"So, we meet again."

Sadiq gritted his teeth, and cocked his pistol again. "_Dammit, why do I keep ending up fighting my old kin constantly?!_" Sadiq thought, himself reeling with pain in his left hand.

**In The Northeastern Gotthard Base Tunnel, 4:30 PM Local Time (CEST)  
>May 11th, 2071<strong>

"You know what? Let me ask you a question?"

The cold, steel-hard tension between Desmond and Vash was growing. Desmond had many past reasons for hating Vash, but the one that stood out, was that his son transported all of his funds, to another company, Astor and Gordon Co.; it was the one company that Desmond knew, that was purely evil, even more so, than most of the Templars.

Desmond started to roll up his sleeves. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asked, in a cool tone, to Vash.

Vash had gotten the signal, long before Desmond even sent it. He aimed his K31 at Desmond. "Well, you see, this is my country. And-"

Desmond had thrown a sidehook at Vash, which struck his in the shoulder, and created a big bruise on Vash's arm. "What, do you have a-"

Vash fired the K31 at Desmond, firing 6 bullets. Despite their sheer accuracy from being tinkered with for decades, only 2 bullets managed to hit Desmond. The other 4 struck a porcelain dish, shattering the shards onto the ground.

Some other people gasped, as they and other people ran out of the train car. Meanwhile, Desmond was reeling from the bullets that struck his shoulder. "Oh, you want it, you little fucker-"

Suddenly, 4 men broke open the door into the train car, and pulled out pistols. Desmond looked, and narrowed his eyes, when he saw the black-clad men aim at Desmond.

"Get the Keeper!"

The commander, the one donning full armor, pointed at Desmond, as Desmond pulled out a boomerang. "Get him!" The commander pointed at Vash.

2 of the men pursued Desmond, while the other 2 fired tranquilizer rifles at Vash. Vash shot one of them, the bullet rebounding into one of the men, but not shooting the other one, which got into Vash's arm.

"What the...why am I...so tired..."

The commander sadistically smiled. "Kidnap him, and we'll be-"

All of a sudden, Desmond got back into the train car, holding the severed head of one of the men who was chasing him. Then, he saw Vash.

Desmond started to gather his anger, concentrating his rage, and his hate into one single emotion: wrath.

"**I AM THE ONLY ONE WHO GETS TO KILL VASH! YOU TEMPLARS HAVE NO BUSINESS HERE!**"

Desmond pulled out the bloody boomerang, and threw it at the commander. The commander's eyes widened in surprise, as the boomerang sliced through his armor like a zipgun on parade.

The boomerang sliced through his upper neck, and then through his face, slashing off parts of his nose and ears in the process. Within seconds, he was as dead as a doorknob.

The other man widened his eyes in shock, trying to run out of the room. But then, Desmond pulled out a gun. "So long~"

He fired Vash's K31; within seconds, the man's heart was beating from him; more specifically, from outside of his body.

Then, he turned to Vash:

Vash wasn't dead, but he wasn't conscious either. Although Desmond desperately wanted to kill him right there on the sopt, he knew he couldn't: Vash, just like Antonio, was a personification, and although he could die, it would only be temporary.

Besides, even if he did, Vash would be out to get him, and although Desmond was good at trying to kill Vash for his burning bias, Vash was even better at the opposite; plus, he had allies, and they would hunt him down from the ends of the earth.

Desmond looked at Vash, who was blinking his eyes. "D-Desmond...is that you..."

Looking around, Desmond saw the fireaxe on the side-wall. "Come on, Vash. We're getting out of here."

**Andermatt, Switzerland, 10:23 PM Local Time (CEST)  
><strong>**May 11th, 2071**

The farmer walked out of his house to get a bottle of liquor to celebrate the Swiss victory at Ornavasso Pass, against the attacking Austrians. Upon exiting his property, he could sense something off.

Looking around, he saw nothing. Shrugging off his feeling, he walked towards his liquor storehouse, at the edge of town.

When he got close to his liquor storehouse, he could sense the odd feeling again. He shrugged it off again, thinking nothing of it, and walking towards the cellar's door.

He opened the door, and got a surprise:

There were 2 young men, chatting down in the cellar, while drinking a bottle of Dom Pérignon, and watching an old recording of a Swiss-Spanish soccer watch on the old TV in the cellar.

The farmer felt two feelings: the first was, _Why the hell are there two teenagers drinking _that?; the 2nd feeling was _This is amusing..._

So, being a gentleman, he peered into the cellar.

"Hello gentlemen. I see you're enjoying yourselves down there. Say, do you want to come down to my place? You can chill down there, and then we can talk about what's going on."

The 2 teens looked at each other, and slowly nodded, as they stepped out of the surprisingly warm wine cellar, and into the cool, crisp grass. "So, what are your names?"

**Northern Paris, Belgian-Occupied Paris, 12:24 AM  
>May 12th, 2071<strong>

Jean walked through the streets of Northern Paris, as the wind blew through the city. Normally, the city would be full of light laughter, and the sweet sound of lovers waltzing through the streets, but the city was different now:

The remaining citizens not arrested or killed, were now cautiously walking through the empty streets of Paris, avoiding any kind of behavior that could get them arrested. Even the oldest of the old, that were alive when the Soviet Union was still around, were brutally punished for any kind of rebel activity, that undermined the occupation of the city.

Then, Jean remembered an American rock song, that fit it perfectly with the broken, empty atmosphere of the city. Pausing to remember it, he started to sing to himself:

_I walk a lonely road_  
><em>The only one that I have ever known<em>  
><em>Don't know where it goes<em>  
><em>But it's home to me and I walk alone<em>

Jean was truly walking alone in the streets now; even at this time of the day, the old city was full of music, dancing, and lights everywhere. Now, in the occupied city, Belgian soldiers patrolled the streets for those who didn't follow curfew, or who weren't granted permission to walk freely. Now, it seemed like his home: an empty, somber road.

_I walk this empty street_  
><em>On the boulevard of broken dreams<em>  
><em>Where the city sleeps<em>  
><em>And I'm the only one and I walk alone<em>

The streets were empty, as Jean walked passed the Sacré-Cœur. In all of its splendor, it was the final, truly magnificent landmark of Northern Paris; the Arc de Triomphe had been dismantled, piece by piece, split into 4 major collections: the Victoria Collection at the Royal Museum in London, the Bismarck Collection in Königsberg, the Kosovar National Collection in Pristina, and the Metropolitan Collection at the Metro in New York. The glorious boulevard, once magnificent, now stood, filled with tanks, trucks, and English soldiers marching over French ground.

_I walk alone_  
><em>I walk alone<em>

_I walk alone_  
><em>I walk a...<em>

_My shadow's only one that walks beside me_  
><em>My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating<em>  
><em>Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me<em>  
><em>Till then I walk alone<em>

Jean's somber mood was made worse by the minute: within 30 minutes, he had gone from terribly depressed, to going suicidal. However, he knew he had a duty to serve to his country, and he had to fulfill it.

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aah-ah_  
><em>Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah<em>

_I'm walking down the line_  
><em>That divides me somewhere in my mind<em>  
><em>On the border line of the edge<em>  
><em>And where I walk alone<em>

Most of the French Army mutinied, when they heard that Paris had been captured. The country had almost fallen into a civil war, just like Spain's situation now, except that the Coalition's invasion prevented this from happening.

_Read between the lines_  
><em>What's fucked up and everything's all right<em>  
><em>Check my vital signs to know I'm still alive<em>  
><em>And I walk alone<em>

Finally, Jean started to cry. It was only a drip of cold sweat, but to Jean, it felt to him, that every teardrop was a waterfall. Then, he broke down. "_Why is this happening?!_"  
>Nothing was right, and not even the most generous treaty offer given to the French since the Napoleonic Wars could fix it; Jean knew it.<p>

_I walk alone_  
><em>I walk alone<em>

_I walk alone_  
><em>I walk a...<em>

_My shadow's only one that walks beside me_  
><em>My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating<em>  
><em>Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me<em>  
><em>Till then I walk alone<em>

He kept crying, until he reached his old street: it was devastated by constant bombing, ripping apart entire chunks of concrete, and scattering them into houses. Then, he started to weep.

_Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aah-ah_  
><em>Ah-ah, ah-ah<em>

_I walk alone_  
><em>I walk a<em>

_I walk this empty street_  
><em>On the boulevard of broken dreams<em>  
><em>Where the city sleeps<em>  
><em>And I'm the only one and I walk a<em>

_My shadow's only one that walks beside me_  
><em>My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating<em>  
><em>Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me<em>  
><em>Till then I walk alone<em>

Jean opened the door to his old home. He looked inside. It looked like a scene out of a disaster movie: his brother was trapped in a state of eternal agony, being buried by flaming hot coals, and his mother was now a ripped-apart corpse, fed to the dogs, and left here to die.

He started to cry again, as he thought of his promise to the English Prime Minister:

_Do not war against anyone. In fact, do not use violence to solve anything, as violence doesn't solve anything._

Jean's eye twitched, as he thought about burning the Prime Minister's face in an American fast food deep fryer. "Ohonono~ You're next George~"

* * *

><p><strong>End Note:<strong>

**Holy crap.**

**How did I finish this in 3 hours?**

**I'm amazed, and shocked at the same time!**

**Also, 'Switzerland's son' is a reference to a minor event in 'Switzerland's Trigger-Happy Letters To The World' by ConfoederatioHelvetica; I'm specifying Zurich, Switzerland's banker son.**

**Explanation Time!:**

**-for those of you who don't know, Japan is good buddies with Turkey and England, both**

**-the Gotthard Base Tunnel is the longest tunnel in the world; it runs through the Swiss cantons of Ticino and Uri (it's scheduled for completion in 2016, so it should have been open for more than 50 years by 2071)**

**-if you're noticing, this update comes before midnight, Monday morning; the schedule begins at midnight**

**-also, if you're noticing, Jean's mind is breaking, just like Russia's; this may prove to be a plot point later**

**Anyways, hope you enjoy this chapter! A new update for '333 Ways To Get Kicked Out Of The PA' will come out Wednesday! Remember to R&R, and favorite and follow!**

**Until next time, DFTBA, and _adieu!_**


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